


Hymn to Prometheus

by Maesonry



Series: Work and Days [1]
Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bastardization of Greek Myths, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hades A+ Parenting, Hades is a Bad Parent, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Starts Off Nice and Then It Hurts, The Goddess of Child Protective Services is Here to Kill Him, canon child abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 35,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27256216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maesonry/pseuds/Maesonry
Summary: “Would you have me chain you up to keep you still, boy?”Zagreus is missing.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Hades Video Game), Asterius | The Minotaur/Theseus (Hades Video Game), Eurus/Hypnos (Hades Video Game), Hebe & Eurus (Hades Video Game), Hermes/Charon (Hades Video Game), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Nyx/Persephone (Hades Video Game), Thanatos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game), Zagreus & Hebe (Hades Video Game)
Series: Work and Days [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069766
Comments: 178
Kudos: 904





	1. Oh, Sweet Prometheus

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve decided to tweak some more Greek lore for this too so it fits more in with the game, for fun
> 
> Anyway. I decided to do an AU of the game kind of. Listen it’s my car and I get to choose the music

It is said the Titans are chained beneath Tartarus, cast into the deepest pits and bound in eternal darkness. An entire realm bearing down upon the worst of them. To prevent their escape, to torment them for their crimes. 

And oh brave Prometheus, giver of life, Titan god of fire- chained forever in the depths of Hades, never to see that same life again. Punishment for its own sake; no lesson to be taught, only consequence. 

Gods have been chained for less. 

And Zagreus...

Well. The gods have not seen him in quite some time.

Merciful Hebe is said to be the youngest of the gods. She is, too, the goddess of the young; though her domain is youth itself, she enjoys certain liberties in that regard. There is the immortal, the eternal youth, the mercy, forgiveness.

She is the first to notice when little Zagreus disappears from sight.

Time means so little to the gods. Every day is splendor (for those that aren’t Demeter, perhaps), and every night is decadence. They have little use for the aspect of mortals. So perhaps the eldest of her kin can be excused for not realizing that the little god has not summoned them in some time. Dionysus, busy with his parties, or Artemis with her hunts, Aphrodite with her suitors and Hebe-

Hebe with nothing, perhaps, but to notice his absence. 

Ganymede rests on her arm. She reaches up and scratches him, gently, like she imagines his family would have. He preens underhand, feathers scrunching up in a happy display. Hebe smiles in equal measure, though it fades.

“Oh, Ganymede... nothing again?” She sighs. The eagle lets out a mournful sound, halfway through wind and dust. Still, it’s not his fault. “Well. We can say that we tried, then, even if we have nothing to show for it. And we shall try again once more.”

She sits up. Ganymede, perched delicately on her arm, refuses to budge, and Hebe laughs with her deep voice, rich and delighted for simplicity. “Fussy bird. You’re lucky I haven’t made you into a constellation yet.” 

Hebe doesn’t mean it, of course, but it’s fun to tease. Which is truly the only thing she can say has been fun lately. Nimble fingers brush off a bit of snow from Ganymede’s feathers, and she frowns at the slight singe of brimstone and soot that stains the edges. 

“Little Zagreus,” she mutters, “Where are you?” 

The Goddess of Eternal Life twists her fingers through the air now. They contort, almost unpleasantly, reaching and grasping at something only she can see; red strings. The snow and soot coat the one closest to her, and she plucks it, listening to it hum throughout the universe. It bleeds red. Down, it leads, down. She follows it, even though she cannot see where it lands, feeling it try to connect to the little prince, the way it warps and echoes. The way it sputters and stops. Unmoving. Not even the slightest hitch of motion.

“He’s in Hades, and he’s not moving, and he’s not dead, and...” Hebe wraps her hand along the string, looping it around her wrist and _pulling_. “He’s not _dead_. It makes no sense.”

A tug on the string, her hand pulling back. It doesn’t budge. A yank. She plants her entire weight backwards now, pulling, straining with godly might, and it still refuses to make any stirring at all. The Fates will not enjoy seeing how she abuses their strings, but she cannot care, not now. Tug on a mortal’s string, and they surge. Pull too hard, it snaps, they die. And a god is a different matter entirely, yes, but little Zagreus _dies_ ; he lives, and dies, and lives. He is a mortal, in the eyes of the strings, just one that always comes back.

And yet, despite all her efforts, Hebe cannot make Zagreus’ string of fate budge at all.

He is frozen. Stuck. Immobile in the hold of time. And she has not seen him in weeks, has not been called on for ambrosia or nectar, has not filled any fountains and- above all- has not felt the song of death and rebirth he screams to her domain.

Something is wrong. 

Hebe releases the string, blinks the sight of them away and brushes her hands against her chiffon. Ganymede coos. Almost absently, she reaches up and pets him again, eyes closed in thought. 

“And what shall we do?” she asks, mostly to the wind. “Wander down to dear Uncle Hades, demand he tell us what happened to his son?”

The laugh she lets out is not warm; it is bitter. She stares at the sky now, seeing that cool blue expanse. She could, if she pleased, send Ganymede out to search once more. To stare at the entrance of the Underworld, hoping, waiting. She could. But how long had she been doing that now? How many times had she waited, hoped that ‘perhaps this time he will appear’? 

Wherever the little god is, he is not escaping anytime soon. And his string mourns of heartbreak, and begs for mercy. He’s so _young._ Hebe, who has spent years now tuning out the cries of the mortal children as they die to cold, has spent years ignoring the screams of those who have had their life cut short...

Hebe, forgiving, merciful Hebe, decides that if she is to be selfish this once, then she can forgive herself this.

She turns, and begins to descend from Olympus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok hades is an abusive shit boy and I don’t caaaare that “it’s Greek myth theyre all like that” cause in this game everything is actually quite a bit nicer. So there’s less excuse for Hades emotionally abusing his son and getting off towards the end with a “I’m sowwy I guess now that my wife is back lol”
> 
> ANYWAY
> 
> It’s MY FIX IT AND I CHOOSE THE COPING MECHANISMS
> 
> Edit: now with cover art 


	2. The Fire of Your Heart

The descent from Olympus is always marked by the taste in the air, the dew fading into mist, ambrosia becoming nectar. When the gods descend, they enjoy doing so in pomp, riding chariots or leaving with fanfare, gusts of wind and parting clouds. Hebe is not one to deny her family their delights, but she herself has always been indifferent. Especially when going to visit her own kin; what is the point, in her mind, of all the circumstance? The Anemoi too care little for such things, and for that, dear Hebe is grateful. 

Wings hold her aloft as she descends from her home. Her eyes are eagle sharp now, and feathers along her back buffer the wind. Ganymede, her aspect, her own extension of self- for now, he is returned to her, and she flies with shared wings and sees with shared sight. She crests the wind and feels the way they brush against her, the closer she gets to Aeolia, the way they become inquiring and curious. She is a familiar enough sight that she is met with that, instead of hostility and cutting edges. 

The seas beneath her are choppy and turbulent. Uncle Poseidon’s wrath is sharp, and she wonders to whom it is directed; some poor sailors, lost at sea, or perhaps her Uncle, Lord Hades? Both, she imagines. Frustration taken out on mortals that deserve it naught. Like the eternal winter, all for dear Persephone. 

(And don’t you know what happened to her, merciful Hebe? Aren’t you complacent in this eternal winter too?)

“Hush,” Hebe murmurs to her inner thoughts, drowning them out with the crashing of waves beneath her. Her concern is for Zagreus now. And her family can do nothing: her mother, her father, sisters nor brothers. It is, in the end, Hades’ domain. To interfere would ensure war. 

So she is not asking them for aid. She will ask elsewhere.

Aeolia approaches. The floating island of myth drifts above the water, as though a chunk of land itself had been gifted flight into the air. Hebe sees it as it is, rivers that flow over the sides, bright bursts of color and a gentle laughter that comes with the breeze. She can pick out brief blurs around the edges, four in total, as she approaches the island itself, gone before she can see them; and miraculously, as it always does, the wind around the island begins to die down. It does not buffet her, but instead, welcomes her. The rough waves beneath her calm too, as though the winds have forced Poseidon into complacency for the moment. Hebe lazily twirls through the air, enjoying a moment of peace, before she spurs herself forward onto land. The island she does, the waves return, and the wind picks up again; she has been welcomed, and anyone else that might try is not. 

Hebe lands. The dirt swirls underneath her as she does so, and she is careful to ensure her tread is light. It would be inhospitable if she were to damage her hosts home. Her wings fold, retracting, until after a moment a little squeak comes forth from her back, Ganymede flapping his wings over her eyes playfully as he rests now on her shoulder. She smiles. “Silly bird. Come, perhaps Aeolus will have an offering for you this time, and not I.”

Ganymede calls excitedly again. He repeats it, again and again, clearly enjoying himself, and it is not long before Hebe’s brief walk clears the small forest she landed in, and instead she stands in a plaza, facing a great palace, decorated in swaths of color. And standing at the entrance of the palace is a familiar old man, one with a deep smile and kind eyes. He greets her with a heavy bow. 

“Lady Hebe, Goddess of Eternity, I welcome you into my home.”

“Dear Aeolus, I thank you for your hospitality,” Hebe responds in turn, beckoning him stand back up again. “Please, there is no need for such circumstance.” 

“Nonsense. You are a guest of my house, and the reason I am able to continue to live and breathe today.” Aeolus does, though, stand from his bow. “Please, come in. I insist on it, my Lady.”

Hebe smiles. “Of course.”

Aeolus leads her into the halls of his home, and Hebe has to lean her head down through the doorways, the home built for those of a smaller stature than her. Aeolus is effusively apologetic, but she waves him off. Ganymede continues to chitter, and when they finally reach the receiving room, the eagle flies up into the air, searching for places to make mischief. Hebe smiles with her eyes when she hears a small, equally excited and surprised giggle; Notus pokes his head out from behind a hidden crevice, and Ganymede joyfully continues to bite at his hair. 

“Please forgive my sons, Lady Hebe,” Aeolus apologizes yet again, though she can see him smiling as well. “They are always eager when any of their family come by.”

At their mention, two more figures appear through the doorway, the taller of the pair bowing at the sight of Hebe. The smaller takes a brotherly jab to remember. They are still yet taller than their surrogate father, King Aeolus, but not as tall as Hebe- a trait she finds endearing, in some ways. The taller speaks first.

“Good Lady Hebe, my brothers and I welcome you into our home,” Zephyrus says. His brother Eurus shifts, his cloudy hair turning a touch more gray in the dim lighting as he glances over to Hebe.

“Lady Hebe, what is it you’re here for?”

Aeolus looks over as though he’s just been struck. Hebe raises her eyebrows at the slight. From up high, young Notus makes a sound of judgement. “Eurus, you’re gonna get dad in trouble.”

“Xenia, my son,” Aeolus stresses as he looks to Eurus. “You must wait until Lady Hebe has settled in before you ask your questions.” Then, he turns to Hebe. “Forgive me, Lady Hebe, for my son’s insult to you-“

Hebe waves her hand again, cutting him off. “Aeolus, it has already been forgiven. Please, come sit, I have much to discuss.”

Aeolus bows again, before taking a seat on the chair opposite Hebe’s chaise. Almost on instinct, his sons flock around him, with Boreas appearing from the door and shaking hay from his hair too. All four wind gods look to Hebe with various amounts of veiled curiosity. Aeolus, king and father to them, just looks resigned at their breach of custom. It is endearing to Hebe. Though she will never voice it, she finds their family refreshing, in the face of what her own family does. But that has no bearing on this now. She clears her throat, and Ganymede settles on her arm, doing his best at looking regal. 

“Do you know the plight of young Zagreus?” Hebe asks. It is mostly a formality. When Aeolus and his gathering of children nod, Hebe continues. “He is… trapped, now, in Hades. I do not know where, or how, and I can only fathom why.”

“Wasn’t he already trapped?” Eurus asks, leaning against his younger brother, Notus, who appears to be making faces at Ganymede. Zephyrus, ever the responsible one, shoves Eurus again. 

“He is trapped in a more literal sense, I fear. He does not hear our calls. He does not live, nor die. He is…” Hebe shifts her hand, grasping at the word. She loses it, and so the sentence simply hangs there, gathering dread. Aeolus has his brows furrowed with uncertainty.

“Lady Hebe, I beg your forgiveness, but why bring this to us? There is no wind in Hades, and my sons could likely find little even if there was.”

Hebe bites her cheek. “My father and our family cannot press further, not without inciting a war between the two realms. It is only I that can, or perhaps will, act.”

The silence stretches on. She exhales as her only sign of nervousness. Yes, she is a goddess, but even she is flawed. Gods know she is flawed. Finally, again she speaks. “I would ask the aid of your sons. Even just one. They are all known for their swiftness, their courage, and if I am to successfully break into the Realm of the Dead, I must implore your aid. _Please_ , Aeolus.”

A goddess does not beg. Hebe merely implores. The moment drags on, and Aeolus looks pained. He is being asked to conspire against the gods. She knows he cannot truly refuse. She gave him eternal life, and if he would ask, she would give him eternal youth too. He knows that he has been given a gift, and now comes the price. Hebe is the goddess of forgiveness, but that does not mean she forgives herself for this. 

But when someone does speak, it is not Aeolus, nor eldest Boreas. Not wise Zephyrus, or young Notus. No, it is Eurus. He who has always been fascinated with the realm of Hades, who admires heroes, admires their quests, remembers Odysseus and still yearns to be as those he praises. To mean something instead of the wind.

“I will go,” he says. 

And Hebe wonders if she has damned him, or he has damned himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm horse 
> 
> Aeolus is the adoptive father of the winds because I say so. Did you know that all of them at one point turn into horses. At least two of the four have horse children. Boreas eats hay now 
> 
> Ok time to start with their journey to the underworld. What happened to Zag I wonder hint hint 
> 
> Hint
> 
> Oh honey you got a big storm comin


	3. Sweet Taste of Wind

Predictably, his statement brings chaos. Hebe watches as all of Eurus’ brothers spring forth, all shouting some contrasting statement, some attempt to change his mind. It is only Aeolus that is silent. His eyes are on her own, and though that kindness is still there, pain has joined it. Pain, that she would ask to take one of his own sons, to what must surely be death. She can't blame him. 

“You can’t go alone!” Notus yells. “We should all go!-”

“No! Lady Hebe, please reconsider, perhaps there is some other god who could help your quest?-”

“Some _plan_ -”

“It’s not fair!-”

“A death sentence-”

“I-”

“I’m my own person!” Eurus shouts above the noise. It quiets his brothers down. His voice is placating like spring showers, but unwavering too. “I’m my own person. This is my choice, isn’t it? To accompany Hebe?”

The silence is thick. Boreas speaks first, eyes flitting to and from Hebe. “Well, Eurus, it’s just… shouldn’t one of us go in your place, that is? Someone…”

Ah. The sentence quiets, but Hebe hears the word ‘expendable’. Not the East Wind. Hebe’s hands curl around her knees, and she shakes her head.

“By my own oath, I will not let Eurus die if he decides to join me.”

That is one promise the Goddess of Life can keep, isn’t it? At least she can do that much. It seems to placate Aeolus, at the very least. Eurus takes it as his moment to continue.

“Then there’s no danger. We will steal back Zagreus, and all will be well.”

Aeolus heaves something like resignation, perhaps a sigh. He looks world weary, and he reaches up to grip the arm of Eurus, frowning. “You will be careful, then, won’t you my son? Promise me. Promise me that you’ll come back.”

Hebe looks away from the scene. She is an intruder here, bringing his son off to a war that isn’t their own. And so it goes. 

“I promise.”

So it goes.

He says his goodbyes. There is a great chorus of praise, of well-wishing, wings encircling each other in parting embraces. Zephyrus extracts another promise of safety from Eurus, and Notus mournfully does the same from Ganymede, with eldest Boreas trying to hide his furrowed brow from Hebe whenever she looks his way. It is too soon that they all part, and Eurus goes to stand beside Hebe, his head reaching her shoulders. She glances down at him. 

“Let us depart, cousin.”

It is a final goodbye, one that she allows herself to say, so that Aeolus may blame her in his mind if he desires. Eurus mantles his wings and nods towards Hebe, and so they both turn and leave the palace, an air of mournfulness still clinging to the air. Even dutiful Ganymede heaves a sigh, taking off into the air once they step outside. Hebe lets the silence rest for a few moments as they walk across the grounds, but she soon breaks it.

“Your father is a kind man. I’m sorry to bring this between you.” Her tone is genuine, but her words feel hollow, even to herself, though she intends the opposite. 

“He is. Don’t be, though- I’ve always wanted to go to the underworld,” Eurus shrugs, and now it’s Hebe’s turn to look intrigued as she looks to him. He has a look on his face that he hides by turning from her. “Aeolus- well, ever since he started raising us and the other gods would come by, he’s been sleeping well every night. Pleasant dreams and gentle awakenings, all the sort. As though some god of sleep has favored him too.” Eurus rubs a hand at the base of his wings, and they twitch to brush Hebe’s arm. “Hypnos, they call him. I would like to thank him personally some day, and this seems like a good enough opportunity, doesn’t it?”

Hebe smiles, softly, and a little mischievous; she knows enough from growing up with sister Aphrodite to see the signs of a heart yearning. 

“There are easier ways to thank a god than breaking into Hades to see him,” Hebe points out. Eurus purses his lips and says nothing in reply. Ganymede makes a cooing noise from above. Hebe returns her attention to the task at hand, though, which is to walk to the edge of the island again, though this time with Eurus. She knows his question is coming before he even voices it.

“What _is_ the plan, H- Lady Hebe?”

“Oh, you do not have to call me Lady Hebe here, cousin. We are family,” she shakes her head, but continues. “We must find a way to gain entry to Hades without being noticed, which is nearly impossible with being gods. So, we will need help. I… have already arranged how to find it.”

The sound of rough, crashing waves grabs her attention as they approach the edge, the bronze cliffs glistening in the light of the setting sun. There is no trace of the harsh winter here, the island sheltered by the presence of gods, and Hebe wonders if Aeolus even knows about it at all. Judging by his protective sons, the answer is perhaps not. Perhaps for the better. The waters churn below, and as Hebe stands near the edge of the drop, she stares down at them. Searching, perhaps, for some light in the growing inky blackness. 

“Help? From who?” Eurus calls, hurrying to catch up. Hebe closes her eyes. Eurus must surely see the look on her face, for he stops a few steps away from her, the sound seeming to echo in the trees. “From Lord Posideon? Lady Artemis?”

“No,” Hebe replies. “From one more dangerous.”

“ **Eris, Lady Strife...** ” Hebe opens her eyes and commands the dark sea. “ **I have a bargain I would make with you.** ”

The waters begin to bubble. The very air seems to chill, and it is as though the setting sun hastens to disappear beneath the horizon out of caution. From the depths of the ocean, a dark shape begins to emerge, rising up out of the water with rivers running down them and their eyes glistening like pearls from the deep: Lady Eris. She is massive in size, compared to them, and her ascent stops when she reaches eye level with Hebe and Eurus. She smiles, though it is the opposite of disarming. Two extra pairs of arms unfold from her back, and she brings one set to rest on the edge of the cliff, the other folded across her chiton. 

“Well… it’s not every day a _goddess_ seeks to make a bargain with me, now, is it?” Eris laughs, leaning in slightly. Hebe does not flinch. “Normally I wouldn’t deign to be summoned, but you’ve gotten my attention, haven’t you. Pray, little goddess, lay out your _terms_ to me.”

Hebe glances over to Eurus, seeing the sheer shock on his face at seeing Lady Strife in the flesh. It is a risk, but she’s taking a calculated one, and she has a bargain that Eris cannot refuse. She exhales once, just for her own sake. “I would ask you that you disguise us, so that we may gain entry into the underworld without alarm.”

One set of massive hands clap together in delight. “Breaking into Hades? You’re daring, aren’t you? Yes, I think that’s within my power, but…” and Eris tilts her head, “I’ve yet to hear what would be in it for me, little one.” She turns to Eurus, narrowing her eyes. “An offering, perhaps?”

“No!’ Hebe shouts, voice firm. You do not shout at a goddess, but Hebe reacts before her propriety thinks. “Leave my cousin out of this. What I offer is between us alone.”

Eris hums, but relents, turning her gaze back to Hebe. “Go on.”

And now, for the hard part. Hebe just hopes she will not regret what she is about to offer. “In exchange, I promise to reveal to the ones I care most the fate of Persephone.”

Olympus, it is implied. Her mother, her brothers. All would know the truth.

Eris’ eyes open wide. They shine now like the edge of a sharpened sword, dangerous and waiting, and her mouth opens wide with a smile. Stars seem to twinkle in and out of existence behind her. The air, once sweet, now smells like rot. “Oh! Oh, now that is just too much!” Throaty laughter, and the waters churn and thrash beneath her with it. “I can already taste the discord! Dear sweet Demeter, sinking her teeth into you- and your father too, lofty Zeus. Yes, oh, this is just perfect.”

Eurus is looking at Hebe as though she’s a lion now, his stance reflecting uncertainty and distrust. Already, Lady Strife has gotten results from her bargain. Hebe keeps her expression neutral, waiting it out, until finally Eris calms down and her chuckles die. “Alright, alright, yes. That bargain seems acceptable to me. Now let me uphold _my_ end of it, little one.”

Lady Eris leans inwards, one of her hands reaching out until the finger is but a breath from poking Hebe. The tip of it glows like fireflies. Eris speaks, voice firm like centuries and echoing with power. “I shall seal and disguise your powers, as gods, so that you may pass off as mortal. You will be injured like mortals, too; you shall not die, but you shall bleed. This boon shall lift once, and only once, you abscond with dear Zagreus.”

Of course Lady Eris already knew the reason Hebe is traveling to Hades. Again, Eris continues. “I will gift you two cloaks, also, so that you may appear as shades as you venture in those depths. That is acceptable, is it not? Does this bargain please you?”

“Yes. I find it agreeable, my Lady.”

Eris smiles, and her finger closes the bit of distance to press lightly against Hebe’s chest. Some terrible feeling grips her very soul, icicles entrenching themselves in her heart, and she gasps without meaning to, shivering despite herself. She feels… lesser, now. Weaker. And even though the effect is only temporary, it feels calamitus. 

“And you, little Eurus? Do you accept my blessing?” Eris asks as she turns to the God of the East Wind. Eurus steels himself remarkably well as he nods, but even he shivers and cringes when he feels his powers seal away as well. Twin pairs of cloaks settle into their hands, the fabric ethereal and light, and Hebe holds hers close to her chest. Lady Strife backs away from them. “Well, then. May I wish you luck on your journey, and I _eagerly_ await the end,” Eris says, looking to Hebe. Hebe wishes she could say the same. Still, she bows, and at least this time Eurus does too. There is a sound like the ocean draining, and Eris descends back into the depths, laughing all the while, the sound musical and terrifying in equal measure. There is silence after she leaves. Eurus turns to Hebe.

“You… you know what happened to Kore?” Eurus asks with a voice that is both accusatory and uncertain. Hebe frowns.

“Persephone. Yes, I know. But I cannot say anything more, not now. I promised her.”

Eurus grits his teeth like he’d like to ask, or demand, more, but he doesn’t. Instead, he lets out a huff of a sigh, staring out at the ocean. Ganymede nudges against Hebe’s cheek, and she kisses him lightly on the head.

“You must go back to Olympus, Gany. The gods need their cupbearer. Go, and they won’t even realize I am gone. I promise I will be safe.” The little bird coos sadly and ruffles his feathers, trying again to nest in her hair for a moment, before pulling back and turning to the sky. He extends his wings, and a moment later, is gone. Hebe watches him go mournfully. 

“We must find a way to Hades now,” Hebe whispers, not wanting to raise her voice. Eurus, touched by the moment, has lost the edge to his own, and he replies in a friendly sort of way.

“I think I know just the right person to ask,” Eurus states, turning out to the horizon. And the name Hermes has scarcely left his lips before the god himself appears, all smiles and good welcomes. This can work, Hebe realizes. They’re really going to be able to do this. 

They _can_ do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I wish I could’ve seen Eris in the game
> 
> Anyway. I imagine Hermes has some exposition to spew in the next chapter about what fate Zagreus is suffering. And about Thanatos, too. Which will be fun...
> 
> I love reading your comments. I won’t reply unless you have a question, just do avoid cluttering it up, but know that I read every single one and love them


	4. Guide Our Way

Hermes is a rush of wind and words, good tidings and warm welcomes and gentle, invigorated things. Hebe, unfortunately, works with him so rarely, but she enjoys the moments she gets to see her fast brother. And if Eurus trusts him enough to reveal their mission to him, then perhaps Hebe should make it a note to talk with her speedy brother more often. As it stands now, she is greeted with a hug, and she laughs with it.

“Heya sis, how’s it going? Keeping up with all the mortals coming and going below and all that? Still doing- what’s it, cupbearering, yeah?” Hermes asks, all smiles. The mention of her ‘job’ though makes Hebe’s face sour, and she shakes the thought physically. 

“Same as it ever was, Hermes. I doubt they’ll even notice that I’m gone.”

“Speaking of gone, what’s it that’s happening here? Not that I don’t love to see my favorite cos, but it’s pretty rare that you call me up Eurus without an appointment so I gotta assume it’s some kinda emergency right?” Hermes does, however, give Eurus a quick hug as well. “Come to think of it, you both seem a little different. Hair styles?”

Eurus shakes his head. “We need to get into Hades. For Zagreus.”

Hermes whistles. His expression, normally so carefree, does darken a little at that. “Well good then that you’re doing it, otherwise I’d be the one going down and let me tell you, I don’t think I’d be half as sneaky as you’re both being right now. Awful what’s happening to him.”

“W- Hermes, what do you mean what’s happening to him?” Hebe grabs her brother’s wrist sharply. He furrows his brow and looks to the horizon for a moment, then back to them.

“Look, I really gotta be going soon but I can give you both a ride to my mate Charon so you guys can get in. I’ll tell you on the way, alright? Though I’m not sure if he’ll let you in even though you look like mortals-”

“We have that covered.”

“Then off we go, okay, let me get the both of you under arm and try not to fall off because that would really ruin this little trip I think.”

He lifts them effortlessly. Hebe, the larger of the pair, feels a little like a sack of grain, but says nothing on it. Eurus is predictably light, for being a god of wind, and so he is able to turn and speak primarily to Hermes as they are sped through the air of the night.

“Is something happening to Zagreus?” Eurus frowns, his wings buffeting against the wind. “Hebe just said he was being kept somewhere, or at least, we think so.”

“Well, you know I sometimes run in to Thanatos, real lovely guy, and he’s been going on with Zag for some time now but recently I’ve not seen hide nor hair of him, and the one time I do, he tells me to tell the gods that Hades is forbidding they help him any more, can you believe that? And he usually looks pretty dour but this time he looked like he’s really been through it, I mean, I’ve never seen him that awful before I gotta say.” Hermes crosses the ocean in little to no time at all, already nearing the end of the journey. “Charon doesn’t like to talk much I say but he told me that Zag is real locked up now, must’ve done something I guess but even Charon looked all put up about it and let me tell you, between you and I he thinks that Prometheus has it better than Zag right now which is really saying something, and- Oh! Here we are then, quick, put on those cloaks of yours and I’ll drop you right off.”

Hebe and Eurus quickly put on their cloaks, just in time for Hermes to bring them to the dock where Charon and his boat rest, awaiting souls at the River Styx. In Hebe’s eyes, Eurus and she look just like they always do, but now with cloaks on, but Charon doesn’t give them so much as a glance as he groans, ushering in them alongside the other recently dead shades that begin to cross over. Hermes salutes. 

“I’ll talk to you later Charon, we’re still on for that little date yeah? See you then, take care!”

Charon, fearsome boatman of the Styx, gently waves back. Hebe finds it endearing, though she’s too busy being an anxious wreck to truly voice that. Eurus sticks close to her, one hand gripping her cloak so that they don’t get separated by the flood of shades that join. Charon extends a hand to them. There is a moment of panic, that they do not have the coin to cross, but both Hebe and Eurus find one upon reaching in to their cloak; be it the work of Eris, or Hermes, she does not know. They hand the coin to Charon, who turns and repeats the processes with the other shades. Hebe is ginger as she steps onto the boat, feeling it rock underneath her feet. She can’t recall the last time she ever rode on a boat, actually, but glancing over to Eurus, she sees that he looks remarkably at ease. He looks to her as well, then leans in, keeping his voice a whisper so as not to disturb the shades that murmur around them

“Do you think he notices?”

Hebe’s eyes dart to Charon, watching him board the boat at the helm. “No. Lady Eris is always true to her word, but we would be wise not to draw undue attention to ourselves.”

They settle in. The boat begins its course down the river, with Charon using the oar less to row and more to guide the boat around obstacles as he sees fit, occasionally pushing begging hands away, back into the water. Eurus tugs his hood to cover his eyes more. Hebe gazes at the waters.

“I wonder how many of them were children,” Hebe murmurs. Youth. In some ways, she could blame herself for any number of dead- for if only she had granted them eternal life, then they would still yet live. But it is not her place to decide such things. Still, her heart mourns at those who died young, and she finds it in herself to grieve for them in her own way. A part of her cries out to give them mercy, the part of her aspect and domain begging for it with each pair of hands, but she does not. She cannot. She hollows herself, and like Eurus, tugs the robe over her eyes. He presses his arm against hers.

“Hermes says you are cupbearer. What does he mean?” Eurus, always curious and trying to lighten the topic, not realizing it is one just as burning. Still, it is an attempt. 

“I serve ambrosia and nectar to the gods of Olympus. As an honor, the symbolic giving of eternal life.” Hebe’s lips curl, but not upwards. She carries in her resentment still. “A foolish tradition. A cup of ambrosia served by me will not change the eternity I have already gifted them.”

“But- didn’t you send Ganymede back to do just that?”

“An aspect of me is still me, in their eyes, nevermind the fact that Ganymede was once a mortal, that mother decided to turn into a bird as a gift.”

Eurus hums low. “And I thought my brothers were bad.”

Now it’s Hebe’s turn to laugh, but it’s a kinder one, quiet. “I envy your family, Eurus. Would that I could be as happy as yours.”

Here in Hades, she hopes that they cannot hear her admission, no matter how truthful it is. Mother might turn her into a deer or such if she finds slight. The rest of the boat ride is in relative silence, though the shades talk amongst themselves too, occasionally bumping in to Eurus or Hebe as they drift around. The river Styx is, despite itself, calming in some ways, and the underworld does not look half so terrifying as Hebe was told of in bedtime stories by her father. Blood turns to something like wispy clouds, the same as Eurus’ hair, and she finds him looking down into it in curiosity. The name rests on her tongue, almost forgotten.

“The River Lethe,” she remembers. “Forgetfulness.”

And with it, it seems, comes their stop. Charon pulls his boat up to a small dock, made of aged yet well cared for wood. The banks of the river are sprawling with trees, banks of soft clouds and mist covered grasses. It looks like something from a dream. She blinks at the sight of it all, feeling a peace in her soul as she takes it in. 

“Elysium,” Eurus whispers. “Where all heroes dwell.”

A few shades stand to exit, and Hebe stands with them, uncertain. Charon is looking at Hebe and Eurus expectantly, pushing back a few other shades that try to exit but must be deemed unworthy. So this is their stop, then. Not anywhere close to Tartarus, but this must be where they’ll have to start, for now. Hebe nods at Charon, out of politeness and gratitude, before taking Eurus’ sleeve and stepping off the boat with him, along with the few other shades that have been deemed worthy enough to be granted an eternity in paradise. Eurus pauses at the edge of the dock, though, as Charon looks to him. The boatman opens his mouth with a rattling, echoing groan.

“Hrraahhhhh…” Charon, staring at Eurus still, and Hebe fears that they’ve been spotted, and he will alert his Lord of their deception before they can truly begin. She is half right. Charon reaches into his cloak, pulling out a small key, rusted yet ornate. An unknown purpose, yet carefully cared for. He sets it in Eurus’ hands. Then, as though he never saw them at all, he returns to his post, his oar in the water, and begins to row away down the river Lethe. They watch as he disappears from sight. 

“He knows,” Eurus whispers, confused. Hebe stands with him on that. Charon knew. But he said nothing. He, in fact, gifted them with something that Hebe can only assume is important; important enough that the boatman would risk giving it to them at all. Hebe tugs her cloak closer and nods to Eurus, beckoning they proceed.

“We mustn't question the will of gods. Hurry. Maybe we can ask some shades of Elysium if they’ve any idea where Zagreus might be.”

After all, if Charon dropped them off here, then there must be something they can find. Something, or, some _one_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Golly I wonder who we’ll find in Elysium guys
> 
> Yes they’re all homo. I don’t even care. Watch out because Theseus is too I am unstoppable


	5. Mercy, Mercy, Beg My Name

Elysium is wonderful, in the way that a dream is wonderful, only felt in fleeting moments, the rest of it hazy and almost unreal. Something about the very air seems to be calming, but there is no breeze, no feeling of the sun on her cheeks, and even the grass underfoot springs back as though she never stood upon it at all. For all that it is wonderful, it is off. Eurus, for how he shuffles and mutters to himself, must feel it too. 

“I’m sure,” Hebe begins, her voice pitched low, “that no one will find it remiss if you make a small breeze. I doubt the shades will notice.”

Eurus shoots her a grateful look, and it’s not long before she feels the most subtle breeze of her existence, only enough to be felt by the two of them and nothing else. Just enough to be there, to feel grounded. Hebe is thankful for it. 

By now, the rest of the shades they had begun walking with off the boat have disappeared, and it is just the two of them, alone in their trek through lonely Elysium. For a place of eternity, the stagnation seems like it would weigh heavy after a long enough time. Those few shades that they do see at first seem to only be interested in fighting, be it with each other or trying to fight with Hebe and Eurus. They steer clear of those shades after that. Eurus’ sickle could easily deal with even the most stubborn shade, or Hebe with her gauntlets, but they did not come to fight. A fight which would surely draw attention to them. 

Still, it makes the idea of obtaining information about Zagreus all the more difficult. If the shades only wish to fight, then how will they even get them to speak? Some paradise this must be. Well… father would like it, Hebe muses. Perhaps it was built in his ideal. 

“Let’s try this doorway,” Eurus suggests, and Hebe follows, ducking her head through the small opening to enter another small corner of Elysium. Like all others, the river Lethe flows through it, beckoning them to enter it and forget all that troubles them. The allure is dangerous indeed. They both make a point to steer clear of it, keeping their eyes open for any shades that look moderately less murderous than all the rest. There’s not a child in sight, Hebe notes, a fact that fills her gut with sour. A paradise for the heroes only, perhaps. 

“Hebe,” Eurus hisses, and she looks up, lost in thought as she stares at the river. She blinks.

“Forgive me. I didn’t realize I was drifting.”

“No, look. I can see a shade sitting by the river’s edge. He looks… different.”

And true to his word, the shade does seem different than all the others they have encountered. More formed, more defined, not lost to senseless bloodlust- able to hold himself together enough to look like he must have looked in life. His eyes are closed, but even from this distance Hebe can see they are lined by kindness. If there is any shade in Elysium that can help them, this surely must be the one. Both Hebe and Eurus look to each other and nod, before beginning to walk towards him. Hebe clears her throat some distance yet from him to catch his attention.

“Dear shade, might we have a word?” Hebe calls. She is careful to keep her tone light, beckoning, to lose the edge that a goddess must gain when talking to mortals. Something more human. Still, she isn’t certain if she achieves it completely; somehow, Eurus is better at it than she is. 

Thankfully, the shade does turn to look at them, and even better, he doesn’t immediately try to attack them. Eurus, feeling embolden, steps towards him more, and Hebe can see the outline of his wings shifting under his cloak. The shade looks at them deeply, before gesturing that they come closer. 

“Of course. By all means, wanderers, come. Share with me my spot by the riverbank. So long as you do not plan to try and attack me like my brethren,” he shrugs. And Hebe and Eurus are weary from dodging murderous shades for so long that they are both grateful for the reprieve. They sit beside the stranger, looking out onto the river Lethe, a blanket of calmness descending over them. The shade speaks again. “Now, what is it that you would like to discuss? Perhaps you are newly dead, and would like to know about the realm? You both look rather young.”

Hebe seizes the opportunity. “My cousin and I are new here, yes. But we seek out one that we have heard many tales of, but have yet to see.” She hedges her words, hoping they intrigue the shade enough for him to open up further. 

“Oh? Some hero, then? I warn you, Heracles is not here, despite those who ask.”

Hebe is not so busy blushing at the name Heracles to be able to ignore how the shade spits out the word hero. She dwells on it for a moment. “No. We are looking for one named Zagreus.”

The shade freezes at the word. He looks around, almost frantic, searching to ensure they haven’t been heard. Then he leans in, eyes dark. “You mustn't ever mention that name. Not even in whispers. Least Lord Hades overhear.”

Eurus leans in now, nudging past Hebe. “Why? Has something happened to him?”

“Someone, more so. I cannot say anymore. Please, strangers, if you could leave-”

Hebe draws her eyes closed at the thought of another dead end. Propriety dictates that she complies with his request, and so she stands to go, only for Eurus to speak again. 

“No! We’re- _we are here to save him._ Please, anything you can tell us-” Eurus pleads. Hebe hisses down at him, but the words are already said, and truly, she cannot blame him for saying them. Not when the shade looks surprised for a moment, then tentatively thoughtful, even hopeful. He speaks in a low whisper.

“If you are telling the truth… go see Asterius of Minos. He will help you. From there, all I can tell you is to try and find Achilles. He will help you as well.”

“Thank you,” Eurus bows profusely, “Thank you. I- what is your name again, dear shade?”

“Patroclus. Now go, before we attract any attention. May the gods watch over you.”

Hebe grabs Eurus’ arm before he can into any further trouble, hurrying out into some other part of Elysium. Eurus, meanwhile, seems momentarily starstruck. “Patroclus! Hebe, that was Patroclus!”

“Yes, cousin, I heard. Though I don’t understand the fuss.”

“I- he’s the companion of Achilles! But why Achilles isn’t here with him, I don’t quite understand… either way! He’s a hero! My brothers and I have always wanted to meet him.” Eurus even lets out a little laugh, the wind around them picking up a hair. Hebe allows herself to laugh with him for the levity of it. 

“Well, if what he said is true, then we will see Sir Achilles later on too. Perhaps we can get you his autograph.”

Eurus lets out a sound like an excited horse. Hebe wonders exactly how much part horse he truly is, but shelves the thought for later, as now they must try and find their way to wherever this Asterius is. If Patroclus is telling the truth, and gods help him if he isn’t, then that should be the key to finding out where Zagreus is. Though, by the sounds of it, they should try and hurry; whatever _is_ happening to Zagreus, it isn’t good. 

The rooms all seem to blend together after a while, but it isn’t long until the pair find their way to what seems like a large coliseum, crowds of shades gathered around the entrance, some gathered around carts of fruit or other goods, while others simply seem to be talking amongst themselves. A Coliseum, hm? 

“Asterius should be in there,” Eurus nods, “Any great hero is probably eager to put on a show for others, right? Eternal glory and the like. Though, I don’t know why Patroclus isn’t here. Maybe he’s taking a break.”

“Or maybe he’s tired of this ‘paradise’,” Hebe adds, feeling more than a little tired of it herself. Truly, this is her father’s realm. Perhaps some of Ares bled in too. Hebe and Eurus approach the gates, and after a moment, they enter. 

The light is blinding at first. Hebe shields her eyes against it, used to the cool darkness of Elysium by now, unprepared for the assault of lights. Eurus recovers faster, staring wide-eyed at the center of the ring. And there stands a minotaur, dressed like any mortal here, joined at the side by another human who seems to be a friend, perhaps, or something else. Nothing hostile. These must be heroes, here to fight for eternal glory in the arena. 

“It’s- that Theseus! And the Bull of Minos! That must mean- they are working together now? As brothers in arms! Hebe, look- they see us!” Eurus, discarding any sense of decorum, dances excitedly from foot to foot. Hebe imagines he looks like a particularly interesting little shade as he does that, though Hebe thinks its an adorable one, nevermind the fact that this is a god, excited over mortals. Still, she is not here to judge that, and instead, she looks over to Theseus and the Minotaur, before grabbing the still overexcited Eurus dragging him away, into the stands. 

“We will speak to them after their fight is over, cousin. Provided you can handle that.”

And find the one called Asterius, hopefully. 

Soon, Theseus and his companion stand beside each other in one half of the battlefield, and from the opposite doorway comes some unnamed hero. The man introduces himself with an air of pomp and glory, but Hebe isn’t listening, not quite. In fact, she only focuses again when she hears Theseus speak.

“And I, Thesues, alongside my dear companion Asterius, shall vanquish you in this field of glory!”

Asterius? Hebe looks over, eyes settling on the Minotaur. That is Asterius? Then he is the one that Patroclus said would help them. Hebe, though she is the goddess of mercy, does perhaps pray that the fight ends quickly now, even if it means the lone fighter pitted against them will be utterly demolished. And truly, the fight does progress quickly, though what the unnamed shade makes up for in his lack of fighting ability is sheer endurance. It seems to give Theseus time to ramble, at least.

“Fool! You are no match for my blessed spear! Where is your sense of fighting spirit?! Even the demon spawn himself had more of a challenge in him than you!”

Demon spawn? Hebe looks over to Eurus and mouths the name, _Zagreus_. Eurus catches it and nods, before returning to obsessively watching the fight. Hebe does the same, though with less obsession and more careful intrigue. Theseus, throughout the course of the fight, continues to boast to the audience. Of his past, and of how lackluster this current fight _is_ in comparison. 

“Even that wretched demon could stand and fight!”

“Aha! Can you not dodge? The shade of Tartarus at least had that much sense!”

“Have you no honor? Call my companion no more such names, fiend! You are fouler than even the demon spawn himself, cast into the depths once more!”

The fight, blessedly, ends quickly. All the shades cheer- all except one. One that seems more orange than blue. Hebe glances over to them as all the shades stand to filter out, before turning her gaze back to the ring. How will she get down there with Eurus to talk to Asterius?

“Take the side entrance. Down the hall,” a little voice whispers. Hebe looks back- the orange shade. Before she can thank them, they’re already gone, whispering a little ‘good luck’ her way. Hebe nods to herself. 

“Eurus, come, if we move quickly we can catch them.”

Eurus snaps himself out of his stupor remarkably quickly, smiling brightly. “Right- lead the way.” 

Down they go. Following the directions of the little helpful shade, Hebe and Eurus make their way through the coliseum, until they find themselves in what appears to be a receiving room in the depths, blocked off from any of the spectators. Except for them, it seems. The doorway is open, and inside Hebe can see both Theseus and Asterius, in the middle of what appears to be throwing towels at each other, though Theseus is the only one throwing anything. Hebe, in a fit of awkwardness, stoops to clearing her throat to get their attention. Theseus doesn’t notice, but thankfully, Asterius does. 

“What business do you have here?” Asterius asks, bluntly. Something that Hebe can appreciate. Eurus seems to understand to keep it silent for the moment, least he start getting overexcited over heroes again. A skill that has a time and a place, but not now. 

“Come now, Asterius, can’t you see these are fans? We must greet them properly!” Theseus grins, “Come in, my dear shades! Surely you must have questions about the battle, to have sought us out like this? Let us regale you with stories and tales of our fame!”

Eurus looks very much like he wants to do just that. It is a remarkable feat of self control that he is silent. 

“I- thank you, Sir Theseus. I had a question for Sir Asterius here, though, if that would please you? About one of the past opponents you must have faced. You may know him by the name of Zagreus?”

Asterius huffs. It is a loud sound, and one that is unpleased. “No. We are not permitted to speak of him.”

“Asterius,” Theseus whines, actually whines, “These are our fans! We can spare them one little tale, at least? Come! You there, little shade hiding behind your friend, let me tell you of how we finally bested the demon spawn himself!”

Well. That is at least something, though Hebe wishes he wouldn’t call Zagreus such a thing. She enters the room, and Eurus rushes through beside her, eager to hear the story from Theseus’ mouth. Hebe stands at least a polite distance away. 

“It was only some time ago! The fiend entered our arena, as he always did, and spoke such boastful words to the two of us, promises to see us slain once and for all! I refused to allow such a thing, and nobly challenged him to a fight, so that we might once and for all settle this matter as all men do. And though the demon spawn did, ahm, best us temporarily, I later saw him being dragged down into the depths by a great beast! Surely as a result of my humble plea that he might be vanquished forever, one of the gods here finally dealt with him as any demon must be; cast into the deepest pits of Tartarus itself!” Theseus _boasts_ , well and truly. Hebe pieces out the lies and half truths from the story, putting together a picture that is grim indeed. So Zagreus beat them as always, but something took him down into the depths. A great beast… not Cerberus, it couldn’t be. All tales of him from her family describe him as terrifyingly gentle to his kin. But then, who?

“My king, you say too much,” Asterius rumbles. Theseus smiles beamingly in response, almost disarming.

“Nonsense! One little tale won’t hurt them! Besides, this shade seems as though they would like to hear more! Come, allow me to tell you of the time I bested a hydra all on my own…”

Theseus and Eurus go to another corner of the room. When Asterius goes to follow, Hebe stops him, looking him in the eyes. How pleasant to meet someone down here that she is eye level with. 

“Asterius. I was sent here by one named Patroclus. He says that you may help us? To free,” Hebe glances around, “Zagreus.”

Asterius eyes her critically. Though he cannot see beneath the cloak, it feels as though he is sizing up her very soul. How strange, for a mortal, but perhaps one that is born half beast would be such a strange being indeed. He snorts.

“You ask me to risk a lot to help you, shade.”

“I know. I beg your forgiveness.”

“Hmph.” Asterius turns, looking out the doorway for a moment. “I do miss the fights the short one and I have.”

The relative silence (relative, with Theseus shouting in the background) remains steady for a few moments, but Hebe feels only tension through it. Like a mortal, she holds her breath. Praying. Finally, Asterius huffs, looking back over to her. “There is a passageway through the bottom of the stadium. You can use it to get into Asphodel. Find the nymph named Eurydice- she will help you. Listen for the singing.”

“Thank you,” Hebe whispers. “Truly. The gods themselves will bless you.”

“I do not need the blessing of any gods. I am content with what I have now,” and Asterius looks over to Theseus, how Theseus smiles brightly as he boasts, and she thinks she sees what he means. Aphrodite would be pleased to see how love still blooms in these strange lands. 

“Eurus! We have to go now. Come on,” Hebe shouts. Eurus turns, looking disproportionately depressed at this statement, and Hebe notices something that appears suspiciously like a signed autograph disappear into the folds of his cloak. She suppresses a laugh. 

“Thank you, Sir Theseus, for speaking to me!” Eurus bows, and Hebe can sense a little bit of protective jealousy in Asterius beside her. For both their sakes, Hebe grabs Eurus by the arm before he decides to offer himself as Theseus permanent manservant. 

“And thank you, Sir Asterius. I pray we meet again one day,” Hebe says. Asterius gives a brief wave too, before turning back to his king and speaking to him. The conversation fades as the pair enters the hallways of the coliseum. To the Asphodel Meadows next, then- hopefully the grass there is less strange than what is in Elysium, and the air less distasteful. 

And hopefully less heroes for Eurus to run into. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hebe and Eurus are literally my favorite. They’re so cute and they bond so well together, I can’t wait to rip them apart and give them trauma
> 
> The deeper they go, the worse the rumors about Zagreus become, don’t they


	6. And To Our Sin, Weighed On Us

To the eternal displeasure of both Hebe and Eurus, the Asphodel Meadows were not, in fact, meadows, but instead appeared to be a barren wasteland of molten rock and not much else. The instant they both set foot inside, Hebe found herself wishing for Elysium once more. At least in Elysium the air didn’t try to choke her, and at least the temperature there didn’t rest heavily in the realm of unmentionably unbearable. Eurus’ wings splay outwards, and he flaps them to at least try and get some more air circulation around them, to no avail. Hebe finds her composure faltering, just a little, as the heat makes her wish to spell out an untold number of curses on this realm. 

“So. This is where the souls of those unworthy of Elysium go,” Hebe coughs into her hand, trying to clear the taste of soot from her throat. The meadows, described by her family as lush and, of course the perfect place for the soul of a child to go, instead a burning pool of magma and rock. Perhaps they weren’t always like this. The pain still remains. Whatever shades are unfortunate enough to be out in the open are few and far between, and so Hebe and Eurus will have to find this Eurydice themselves. A nymph should be easy to spot, at least in theory, but in practice, Hebe wonders if perhaps they are going to be in over there head if they aren’t careful. 

“Mortals have weird ideas about worthiness,” Eurus kicks at a nearby rock, letting it plunge and drown in lava, and Hebe doesn’t have anything to reply with, not anything that would satisfy either of them. Instead, she reaches up with part of her robe and covers her mouth, trying to at least filter out some of the ash, the smell of eternally burning flesh. This place is like a raw wound, and nothing like Olympus, nothing even like the mortal world they left behind. 

So it goes. They continue on. Each part of Asphodel seems to blend together, the river Phlegethon winding around like a merciless snake, cinching the life out of every shade that would have called this home. Every now and again, Eurus flares his wings and takes flight into the air, only for a few moments at a time, searching through the air for something, anything to find. But Hades is ever shifting, and when they take one step forward, it seems the route they could have thought of is already long gone. 

They wander in this strange halflife for some time. There is no such thing as day or night here, and time can easily slip through their fingers if they are not careful. Perhaps, at best, it has only been hours. At worst, they have wandered for a day. Hebe curls her hands into fists and feels the raw call of youth in her blood, the urge to break free, holler and shout- to tumble down and scrap with whatever stops them from moving forward. She ignores it; she ignores it as she has been taught to, reigns it in, forces it into something quiet and still. Instead, she keeps her eyes sharp, looking forward. 

She is glad that she did. 

“Eurus!” Hebe hisses, grabbing his hand and using her other one to point forward. There is a flash of green light in the distance, sickly pale, and Hebe drags Eurus behind cover of some nearby rubble. Perhaps it was once a house. No longer. Eurus quickly mantles his wings, and Hebe drags her cloak to cover herself even further, as if more coverage will make her any safer. A lone bell tolls through the desolate plain. Thanatos appears in a burst of light, a sight that the Goddess of Eternal Life is more familiar with than most would think. Death and life are one in the same, in some ways. A friendly rivalry in others. But Hebe knows what Thanatos looks like, the set of his face, his held stance; this is Thanatos after a great tragedy has torn through him. Mercy, mercy, her soul begs. 

But she can give none.

Thanatos deposits a handful of weary souls into the meadows, their hands grasping at him but gaining no purchase. He doesn’t even give them a glance. Instead, he turns his head to the horizon, to some unknown sight only he can see. It furrows his brow, and then, as though a knife has been placed through his chest, he closes his eyes sharply. As he does so, Hebe spots a glint on the side of his belt; a key. The same type of key that Charon gave to them. Hebe’s hand slips off the rock momentarily, and a pebble clatters down, the sound erupting like fanfare through the silent place. Hebe freezes. Eurus stares at her in terror. It’s too late to take the sound back, and so she ducks down even farther, as Thanatos turns abruptly to their bit of cover, eyes wide. This is not the calculating, careful god that Hebe remembers. This is almost something like a caged animal. Hebe prays that this plays into their favor, as she grips Eurus’ wrist and silences herself as much as she can.

The moment drags on. Thanatos stands frozen in the clearing, almost as though he himself is a statue. It scrapes against her attention, razor edges digging themselves into her heart, and she wonders if Eurus sees what she sees. Even when Thanatos turns away, Hebe wonders. Who did this to him? Only one could hold such power, and the name burns her throat. It curdles, even after Thanatos disappears, and the clearing is left empty except for the weight of their sins bearing down on them. 

Eurus stands. Hebe doesn’t.

“What if… what if it’s Hades.” Her voice is hollow. It echoes like a winter wind. It burns like an eternal frost. The acid inside of her bubbles out, and she grips her head, hands dug into her hair, the sound curdling and churning and slashing its way through her. 

“I- what do you mean?” Eurus asks, confused. “You think that Hades is the reason behind this?”

“Who else?” Hebe demands, eyes lost. “His mother, Nyx? I- father had said how Hades was stopping Zagreus from leaving, but I thought. With words, not actions. Force? Is Zagreus-” Hebe stops. She blinks. “Is he… is he alright, Eurus?”

_”Between you and I,” Hermes said, “Prometheus has the better deal right now.”_

Eurus looks lost. “That… that doesn’t make sense. Surely his own father wouldn’t do something to him. He- maybe he’s just under house arrest, right? Thanatos might just be busy. With the war, and the winter.”

“I don’t know, Eurus.” Hebe feels it, in the part of her that screams its domain, the way it claws at her skin, surely and certainty. “I don’t know.” 

Still, the journey must go on. Hebe stands, following behind Eurus, and they go off into the spot that Thanatos was looking off to in the distance. Any direction is better than none. And perhaps it is some lingering energy that he left, but the path does not shift, and instead, seems to branch in some direction of promise. Something that has the faintest hint of song in the air. Song- singing, which must mean, a nymph. Or a particularly happy shade, one that must surely enjoy this lava world unlike the others.

“This way,” Hebe tugs on Eurus’ arm, following that sound as it drifts through the air. There is no true breeze to blow it her way, but that just means it cannot get lost in the crevices of the realm, now a direct line to what is a respite from the weight of the fire and brimstone on their minds. A way out. 

The path splits. Stairs, some kind of entrance, and the most beautiful song. Eurus, eager and exhausted, is the one to call. “Eurydice? Is that you?”

The singing stops. From the small balcony, an inquisitive head pokes out, though more cautious than most. “Who gave you my name, stranger?”

“Oh, thank the gods,” Hebe exhales. “Dear Eurydice, we need your help. Please; this is urgent.”

It takes a few moments, but she welcomes them into her home. Hebe does her best not to collapse into a chair to relax. Eurus, though, has no such qualms, and instantly chooses a comfortable corner to stretch his wings, before laying his head in his arms to cherish the few moments of relaxation. Eurydice does not appear offended by this, but Hebe doesn’t want to risk anything by appearing ungrateful.

“Thank you, my lady, for allowing us entrance into your home,” Hebe bows. The nymph shade laughs at the show.

“Please, really, there’s no need to bow. You both look like you could use the rest anyway. What do you need me for? Hopefully nothing Orpheus has done.” Eurydice leans against a kitchen counter, and Hebe shakes her head after a moment, dislodging the exhaustion. 

“I- no. We were sent to you by Asterius; he said you could help us find… Zagreus.”

Eurydice bites the side of her cheek. She glances between the two of them, before sighing and resting a hand on her hip. “You two? Well, I guess we really do need all the help we can get. Even if you both look like you’re about to topple over. Hey, if you’re serious about this, here,” and Eurydice turns around, gets two bowls of something that smells twice as good as it looks, before setting them into their hands. “You’ll definitely need the energy from this.”

Eating is for mortals, Hebe wants to say, but her soul certainly feels tired like a mortal’s would. And Eurus is already eating his. She could stand on circumstance again, insist on refusing, or… grab the bowl and sit down right next to Eurus. Her mother would say she choose the former. But she isn’t here right now, so Hebe gratefully chooses the latter, plopping down beside her cousin and eating the food twice as fast. 

“This is so good,” Hebe says, mouth full of soup. Eurus adds something slurred around a mouthful of vegetable. Eurydice snorts.

“Always glad to see my cooking being enjoyed.” She stops, though, tilting her head at them. “So you’re the two that are gonna rescue the little prince? Hm. If you get him out… tell him we miss him over here, alright?”

Hebe nods. She wonders if it would be rude to ask for more soup. When Eurus isn’t looking, she swaps their bowls and eats the last bites of his, smiling secretly, before clearing her head of any childish nonsense. “We- we should hurry. Do you know of any way into Tartarus?”

Now this, it seems, Eurydice does know. She nods, turning around to look at some part of her wall, moving bark out of the way and charred tree limbs. “This iiis a secret, but I think you both are desperate enough to need it. Plus,” and she looks down to them, “I doubt either of you will be able to find me again if you tried to do anything. No offense.”

“None taken,” Eurus adds.

The secret is revealed, as part of the wall falls away to reveal a dark, shrouded looking corridor. The inside is lined with small fairy lights, and Hebe can feel the temperature difference even from here. She sets her bowl down as she looks at it. “Where does it lead?”

“Straight into the House of Hades, kid. Orpheus and Zag- well, mostly Zag- found a way to make this little thing. Cute, isn’t it? Never expected to use it for anything other than meeting up to kiss Orpheus in the middle, though.”

Sweet Aphrodite, even down here, her influence continues. Hebe smiles and hopes it conveys just how thankful she is, how much this truly means to her. Eurus conveys it in words.

“Thank you so much. Really, I- thank you. For the soup too,” Eurus hands her the empty bowl. “It was really good.”

Eurydice beams like the sun. “Awww, thanks. Now, you guys had probably hurry, before you end up tripping on a rock and falling into lava or something.”

That sounds like something that would happen to them here. Hebe nods, and Eurus mantles his wings as they both step into the tunnel. Still, she waves to Eurydice before the disappear into the cool darkness.

“Thank you.”

Eurydice gives them a thumbs-up. “Good luck, kids.”

She closes the entrance on her end, and off into that dark they go, their eyes lit in the corners by fairy lights and something almost like hope. Hebe grips her cloak tighter, but her eyes are on the ceiling now, and the fairy lights seem like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abuse is bad guys
> 
> Also thank you for all the comments, they’re extremely fun to read. Mostly. I’m just doing this for fun so any criticisms will have to be filed under “not my problem” 
> 
> Now. Time for our intrepid heroes to have their worlds crash down around them


	7. To Our Health

The House of Hades. Few mortals have ever dared to even try to enter it, and those that have tried are often more foolish than they would like you believe. Hebe wonders if she counts as among them, disguised as a mortal as she is. Certainly she feels foolhardy. But stubborn hope burns brighter than any fear, and it’s with that that she and Eurus push their way through the last of the tunnel, the lights above fading out in place of candlelight. Hebe grasps at the folds of her cloak, feeling unrest.

“We’ll find Zagreus here,” Hebe murmurs the promise to herself. “Then, we can leave.” Easy, perhaps. Perhaps no need for alarm at all. Eurus prods her side with one of his wings, shaking the feathers out in one final stretch before having to hide them again. He shoots her a wry smile.

“Do you think Hades is as big as they say?”

“About as big as father is, likely.”

Eurus mulls that over. “Huh.”

No more time for stalling. Hebe exhales, before grabbing Eurus by the wrist and pressing through the exit, leaving their secret path behind themselves. Light blinds them both. By the time Hebe is able to reorientate herself, the path behind them has already seemed to scab over, the walls of the house taking their secret back once more. The only way now is forward. Hebe turns to face the hall, blinking at the eerie glow of the candles, the way the facades along the wall seem to glare with stark shadows. Lofty, yet cold. Eurus crosses his arms as he looks up at a mournful statue.

“Are we supposed to recognize them, you think?” Eurus holds a hand outward, framing the statue’s face. “The only reason we have statues at home is because dad keeps getting gifted ones of heroes.”

Hebe looks at the statue, tilting her head. Is of a man, chained to a rock, with a great eagle ripping apart his midsection. It is familiar, but she cannot quite place it. “Mother only has statues of family at home, so I know less than you would. Perhaps it is a statue for the sake of it, to look sad.”

“Boreas would hate it here,” Eurus snorts. Hebe cannot imagine any of his brothers setting foot down here at all; they’re all bright colors and surface things. Something to be eaten up by Hades and destroyed. Hebe shakes the thought from her head.

“Come, we should go.”

The hall seems to stretch eternally onwards. It dwarfs them, a fearful labyrinth, and it would be easy to get lost in it were it not for the voices Hebe can hear from some ways away. One that is deep and booming. The closer they get, the louder the voice becomes, and soon, more shades start filtering in around them as well. Some young, some old, most lost in one way or another. Here for an audience, maybe. None of them pay either Hebe nor Eurus much mind, which she is grateful for, as it allows her to ignore them as best she can. Eurus keeps his eyes to the ground, when he’s successful, but otherwise seems to find himself looking at the shades around them and frowning. 

“Do not speak to them,” Hebe whispers to him. The mortals are mortals, even in death. Give nothing to them, mother had said. Eurus must know the same. He gives her a look like confusion, or like betrayal, but she drags him along faster before he can try. 

The crowds thicken now, the sounds becoming more, in a sense. Occasionally, a shade will bump into them, seeming momentarily surprised that they are solid, but not before they’ve already disappeared from view. Their pace is faster now. More frantic, maybe. Eurus is pressed close to Hebe, and she to him, weaving past the souls of the unlucky dead, clutching their cloaks as tight as they can. The end of the hall is a gaping maw, one that threatens to swallow them up, but Hebe pushes towards it and shields her eyes from the harsh light from within. A voice booms through the chamber as they enter, one that rattles her bones and chills her very heart.

“Pathetic,” Lord Hades snaps. He slams a fist on his desk, the thing shuddering with oak and marble, and the shade below shudders with it. “Denied. Next!” The shade disappears before he even finishes his breath. Another one replaces it. Hebe grips Eurus’ wrist so hard her hand shakes.

So this is her Uncle Hades. The one her father spoke highly of, once. Long ago maybe, during the stories of children. Where is that same man now, she wonders? Here is a god with ashen skin and red eyes, a god who’s voice booms with vitriol that matches the set of his stance. A realm of darkness and a fist that pounds against the oaken desk again; denied. Denied. There is nothing for you here. Whatever you seek, you shall not find.

“Eurus,” Hebe whispers, voice straining against itself to keep quiet in the chamber. “Eurus-”

She turns. He is gone. Her mind drops, for a single moment, nothing but pure animalistic panic at being alone, at him being hurt. It only takes a breath for the moment to pass, as her eyes land on his form near the edge of the crowd now, the shape of him gravitating towards some floating figure at the wall of the room. She follows. Stops where he stops, some distance still from whatever blue shade this is, as Hebe tilts her head to parse it. Eurus lets out an uncharacteristic noise. 

“That’s him. That’s- it’s Hypnos,” Eurus says. Hypnos, the god of sleep, and Hebe watches him float softly in the air and blink heavy eyes. He looks unusual, in this dour realm, soft colors and wispy hair like clouds, like Eurus and his brothers; how odd, one like him. Yet here he is, and here Eurus is, his eyes as bashful as any shade of poppy, flicking his eyes away from Hypnos just as often as back. 

Oh, Hebe realizes. Oh.

This is not the excitement over heroes, not the loud and brash desire to please an idol. What started off as a desire to pay respect now becomes something more, and Hebe can see from the way Eurus folds his hands together and the bottoms of his wings brush the floor that he is wearing his heart on his bare arm, and it is bleating red.  
He’s walking forward before she can stop him. Perhaps she doesn’t try very hard, reaching her hand out a second too late- but she doesn’t dare raise her voice to call to him, not with Hades looming across the room, and she doesn’t dare rush over to drag Eurus back and cause a commotion. Instead, she stands there, frozen, watching as he seems to walk to Hypnos in a fearful trance. Like seeing a dream. He stops only a few steps away. 

Hypnos looks up. He has eyes, yellow like ambrosia, and he smiles so easily at Eurus that Hebe feels her chest pause. He, too, is the first to speak. “Oh hi there! You must be here for an audience, right? I’ll just need to sign you in if that’s okay, but it’ll take a while, since you’ve got about a few thousand ahead of you in line right now-”

“Thank you,” Eurus blurts out, but it’s not a shout, it’s a whisper. His voice rasps. It seems to claw at the roof of his mouth, and it is uncharacteristically tremulous for him. “For helping my dad, Lord Hypnos.”

Eurus turns quickly at that. He has not revealed much, but Hebe is still fearful, and she waves for him to hurry and come back, before the god of sleep can put two and two together. Go, while he’s still dazed. Eurus seems to understand the idea, rushing over to Hebe again and daring to shoot a parting look to Hypnos. The god blinks slowly at them.

“Well, gee, you’re welcome I think, but I don’t really know your name…”

“Nobody,” Eurus murmurs. 

“Huh, you and that Odysseus guy have a lot in common. Well, hopefully I see you around sometime then, Mr. Nobody!”

Eurus is approximately the color of Hypnos’ cape. Hebe would find it more endearing, if not for the way that Hades is looking at them now, his brow furrowed at how Hypnos is being held from his duties. Hebe yanks Eurus forward, towards some random hall, anywhere but here, dodging the last of the glares from Hades as they disappear from sight. Hopefully from his sight permanently, too. This hall is much the same as all the others, save for the presence of Lady Nyx at the end of it, her back to them as she looks out on what appears to be a garden of some kind. 

“What are we doing?” Eurus hisses. Hebe shushes him.

“Looking for the right room! Come on, it must be this one.” Any room with a sigil resembling Zagreus at the door must at least be tangentially connected to him. And if this is his room, then he should be in here- he should be. Hebe hopes. She shoots one more furtive glance to Lady Nyx, before sneaking into the room with Eurus. 

The room is empty. Hebe notices that the instant she sets foot inside of it. It is Zagreus’ room, it surely must be, for his clothes are strewn across the floor and his bed is unmade and his laurels rest on the pillow and yet- Zagreus is not here. Hebe does not freeze; her mother would have none of that. Instead, even though she stops inside her mind, her body still yet moves, picking up duvets and opening cupboards and searching around corners, eyes wide and shock-still. Hebe returns to herself, but now, she tears through the space like a caged animal, throwing desperation behind the once stilted searches. 

“No,” she balks, “No- he- Eurus, is this not his room?”

Eurus is standing by the door, still confused, still half shocked. “I- well, it looks like it must be. I…” Eurus picks up a handful of papers that Hebe had scattered, looking through them. “Reports. These are signed by him,” Eurus looks up, “This has to be his room.”

“Then where is he?” Hebe demands. It doesn’t sound strong; it sounds cracking, icebergs groaning under the sea from the pressure of themselves. “Eurus- he has to be in Hades, but he’s not here, and there’s no where else he could _be_. He can’t be anywhere else but here,” she clenches her fists into the bedspread, eyes unfocused. “But if he’s not here- if he’s not kept locked in his home, if he’s not here, then he has to be… he…” 

She stops. There is something on the bed, at first unnoticed. She takes it up with tender hands, and her mouth goes barren, no words to escape it, no sounds to find purchase as she seals it shut. It is a plush mouse that she holds now, and she stares at the thing that is obviously such a statement of love, left abandoned. Like children, when they go in the night. Nothing left behind but sorrows.

Stolen children are taken to Tartarus, Hera once said. They feed hungry Titans, bound in the depths. 

Eurus looks frantically uncertain. He can sense that something is wrong, but not what. “If he’s not here, where is he? I don’t understand.”

“That is a question I think I can answer,” a regal voice intones from the doorway. Both Hebe and Eurus turn, and before their eyes appears Night Incarnate: Lady Nyx herself. And she has caught them both red handed, breaking into her son’s room.

Oh, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hebe: has a panic attack  
> Eurus: what’s happening someone tell me what’s happening guys-
> 
> ITS AAAALL GOING DOWNHILL FROM HERE
> 
> God it’s 7am here I am so tired. Life is so pain
> 
> Also comment moderation is on until some of y’all can learn to behave. The rest of you are darlings


	8. Never The Same

“Oh,” Hebe croaks. What else is she to say? She is stuck there, holding a plush mouse, staring at the Goddess of Night herself and unable to form any true words. Eurus fares no better; he drops several of the papers in his hands, almost bumping into the desk in his haste to put some distance between him and the goddess. Lady Nyx drifts forward, towards Hebe. Hebe, perhaps on instinct, cradles the stuffed mouse and twists it from view, as though she can protect it. As though it will somehow save Zagreus from his fate.

“Please, do not be afraid of me. I have been awaiting the both of you for some time now,” Nyx eyes Eurus, watching him slowly sidestep over to Hebe, until they are both together, looking up at Lady Nyx and clutching at their cloaks. Nyx reaches a hand out to Hebe, and Hebe doesn’t flinch- mother had always insisted. She simply stands there, awaiting whatever punishment will follow; Lady Nyx just barely grasping the top of the hood and gingerly peeking under it. Hebe lowers her eyes. Yet, Nyx simply releases the fabric again, and nothing more.

“Hebe,” and then she turns, “Eurus. It is the will of the Three Fates that has brought you here now. Your journey has been long; it will yet be longer.”

“Lady Nyx,” Hebe lowers her head. “I- Forgive us for trespassing. We have no excuse for these unforgivable actions, and I beg that you allow us to explain before you cast judgement-”

“There will be no judgement, child,” Nyx promises. Her voice is soft. “You both will save my son. It is I who must beg for forgiveness from you, for the price which you will both pay for such kindness.”

“I- forgive me, but I fear I do not understand,” Hebe stutters. “Save him? Lady Nyx, with your powers, surely whatever fate is befalling your son, you should be able to stop.” This doesn’t make any sense. If Zagreus is in danger, but it’s not her work, but she still cannot save him...

Nyx looks away. “Not when it is Hades’ own doing.”

Such simple words, to make Hebe’s stomach drop out from under her. How suddenly all her fears come true. Trembling hands struggle to grip the plush mouse, and it is Eurus who springs forth, his wings boxing at the back and his stance torn. “Hades? His own father? There must be something wrong- that doesn’t make sense. He- he can’t!”

“And yet, he has,” Nyx replies. Eurus closes his mouth and twists it up. Had he ever seen a parent who would hurt their own child? Hebe doesn’t think so. Perhaps that is why he was so adamant that it couldn’t be Hades; it seemed an impossibility to his mind. 

Hebe steps forward like those at a funeral, the bottom of her cloak trailing along the ground heavily, as heavy as her tread, as her heart. Children, taken in the night. Blood stains like pomegranate, hungry Titans in the depths. “Why?”

Lady Nyx closes her eyes. She folds her hands and tries to suppress some shift of her lip, but Hebe sees it, would always be able to see it. “Persephone.”

The room trembles with the name. Nyx must use her power to contain it, is all Hebe can think, and she wishes the same could be said for the hammering of her own heart. Persephone, unhappy in Olympus. Persephone, desperate for escape, in any way it might be. Persephone; youthful Persephone. Hebe can remember her, perhaps as freshly as though she’d never left. 

What would Zagreus want with her?

Eurus’ voice is slipping. He is losing the edge of politeness, replaced by the dull blade of fear. The knowledge that this puzzle is looming, and far more dangerous than just the two of them. “Why? She went missing from Olympus an eternity ago.”

Nyx reopens her eyes. “She is his mother. And he wished to find her.”

And Hades had not.

“Oh.” Hebe pulls her cloak over herself, tugs it to swamp her entirely, no light let in, just a tomb of reflection of sin. Why- why had she let Persephone leave? Could this all have truly been avoided? Had two failures become a thousand? Eurus eyes her from the corner of his eyes, and Hebe has nothing she can say that is not a confession. Where is her forgiveness for herself? Where is the mercy she would grant others? 

Hebe buries herself; buries the feelings deep in her heart, and locks them away. “We have to save him,” she demands, dropping the fabric and looking over to Nyx. “Where is he being held? How can we reach him? Please- surely there is something you can do.”

“I am able to do nothing.” Nyx shakes her head. Her mouth paints a line of regret. “My powers are sealed, in a contract with Lord Hades. For my own child, I am helpless; for Zagreus, all I can do is send him you.” Then, she slides her gaze to the door, letting her eyes rest upon it as Hebe and Eurus look to one another. She speaks before they can try and plan their next action. “There is one, however, that will assist you. I believe you will know him as Achilles.”

Achilles enters. He is tall and weary, one hand gripping a great spear, his eyes searching the room with furrowed brow. “Lady Nyx, there was a report of a disturbance in the room?” He stares at Hebe and Eurus, and his confusion only grows. “Do these shades need escorted out? I’m sorry, young ones, but this room is off limits.”

“Achilles,” Eurus breathes. His mouth gets the better of him, in the face of heroes. There is a moment where he gapes, then he remembers what to say, the words in the sequence. “Patroclus sent us.”  
Achilles’ eyes widen, and then he snaps his attention to Nyx. The Lady of the Night is already making her way towards the door. “I will attempt to divert Hades’ attention for as long as I am able. Achilles, I trust you will help these two?” She looks down to him. Her expression is soft. “We must all do what is required now.”

It is a conversation that Hebe and Eurus only half understand. Still, Achilles quickly bows, and Nyx ghosts out of the room, leaving the three alone. He is at attention again, almost immediately, though some strange care never seems to leave his eyes, despite the haste the situation seems to call for. “You say Patroclus sent you?”

“Yes.” Eurus shifts his hands together, suddenly shy in the face of the hero. “We met him in Elysium, and he told us to find you. Which, we did!”

“He did? Ah, forgive me. We do not have time to dwell on such things. Come on, lads, we should hurry; there’s no telling how long we have before Lord Hades realizes what’s happening.” Achilles gestures to the opposite door, and Hebe stills for a moment before grabbing Eurus by the hand, pulling him after the hero. She tucks the plush into her cloak as she goes. Achilles walks with purpose, and soon, the two enter a large courtyard, one that overlooks all of Tartarus. Yet, Hebe only spares it a glance.

“Where are we going, Sir Achilles?”

Achilles grips his spear harder. “To Zagreus.”

There is a dip, near the balcony. Achilles gestures for them to follow, before sliding down the slope, the green light sickly on his skin, casting strange shadows across the three of them. Eurus unfurls his wings and glides down beside him, while Hebe slides down the slope on her heel, eyeing the structures around them as they get closer. Eurus speaks as they fall. “You’ll get in trouble for this, won’t you?”

“For this? Yes. For what I am going to do after this? More than you can imagine.” Still, Achilles doesn’t sound upset, but more accepting of some fact that he cannot change. “Would that I have tried to stand up sooner.”

Soon, they land. Eurus grabs Hebe before she does too, depositing her on her feet, then landing beside her. They are in a dark corridor, lit only by the grace of the green crystals far overhead, embedded in the tops of rock faces in the distance. The darkness here is almost physical in its presence. Achilles walks forward through it without hesitation, nor fear. Hebe and Eurus have nothing to do but follow. Hebe finds herself looking around, trying to piece out where they are. Tartarus, but somewhere deep; somewhere a soul is never meant to be found. A punishment.

“Hades locked him in the depths of Tartarus?” Hebe whispers. 

“Yes. Yes, that he did.”

“But why?” 

“Some parents punish to teach a lesson,” Achilles states, looking forward. “Lord Hades punishes for its own sake.”

“It’s barbaric,” Hebe snaps, her teeth red and screaming. 

Achilles says nothing. All the better. Hebe is off-kilter, grasping and scrambling for purchase, and she cannot handle the delicacies of conversation right now, the societal politeness her mother had expected of her and trained her for. She wants to sink her hands into skin and bruise. Hades’, in a perfect world. The tunnel is too small to scream in, but Hebe wishes to scream. 

Eurus is there, though. His hand on her arm, an expression of worry, of attempted comfort. He doesn’t understand, not fully, but he still yet tries. Tries to bring her back to ground, even though her mind is stuck circling her most primal domain. There’s something in his eyes as he looks at her.

“Hebe,” he frowns, looking away. “You’d tell me if anything was wrong, right?”

What a strange question. “Of course I would.”

“If you were feeling upset, or angry? You know you can talk about those things to me?”

Eurus isn’t making any sense. Hebe smiles at him, a practiced one, and tries to reassure him. “I promise, everything is fine. We’ll be alright.”

The same sort of smile that always assured father or mother does nothing for Eurus. Instead, he drops his hand, but not his frown. He simply looks forward. Hebe feels as though she’s failed, but isn’t sure why. And as Achilles abruptly stops, she cannot dwell on it anymore.

“We’re here. You’ll find him beyond this door,” Achilles takes a key from his belt, inserting it into the door. There is one more lock beside it, and Hebe reaches into her cloak, pulls out the key from Charon. It fits. So he had been preparing them all along as well. Hebe looks up at Achilles, her face torn, and he shakes his head before she can even ask her question. “I can go no further. I’ll return to the House, and attempt to stall Hades for as long as I can to buy you time.”

“He’ll kill you,” Eurus blurts. “Isn’t that what will happen? You know it too, don’t you. You won’t come back from this.”

Achilles doesn’t answer. He turns away from them. Though, before he walks away, he does stutter-step. It is with a great breath that he manages to speak. “Give Zagreus my love. And, Patroclus, if you ever see him again.”

Eurus watches him go. Hebe casts her eyes away. To the door, to be pushed open. The cold seeping out under the cracks, the pained sound of wind, harsh and artificial. Behind the door is Zagreus; cast into the depths of Tartarus. She inhales her breath and clenches her hands into fists, feels the nails bite into the skin, the way her bones tremble.

“Eurus. With me.”

He manages to tear himself away from watching Achilles’ shadow, long enough to nod to her and stand beside her. With both their strength, they press against the door, feeling the stone push and give. Each step is arduous, the cold snapping out and biting, nipping into the cracks of skin and weak points of flesh. It billows their cloaks back, their hair from their eyes, and whatever shades of winter dwell within are insistent that they do not pass. But the might of two gods, however feeble, is enough. It is enough. With one great heave, they manage to shove the door open, and the wind buffets their faces with sharp, mourning edges.

Hebe opens her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV you are now responsible for a war hero dying permanently a second time
> 
> Expect the next burst of chapters when I next sit down and crank out like fifteen to post. Sorry for any delays but I’m also just vibing


	9. Song of the Surface

The clearing is lit by green. The light of it is like nausea, mixing in with a blue like ice, sickly pale and casting claws across the ground, the gnashing, tearing. Hebe’s bare feet burn against the snow. How is there snow? They’re in the depths of Tartarus, and there is snow. She shivers, and not entirely from the cold. There’s a curtain of mist and fog, hovering in the air, and Hebe squints, tries to pierce it. Eurus fluffs his wings up. 

“It’s as cold as the surface,” Eurus murmurs, shaking the ends of his feathers to shake the frost off. Hebe closes her mouth. Realization.

“Punishment,” she whispers, clutching at her cloak. “He’s being punished.”

They walk forwards. The wind stops howling, likely as a result of Eurus willing it, but the light is still one of decay and desolation. It threatens to turn her lips blue. The snow drifts ebb like the sea, exposed rock just as frozen, just as burning, and Hebe stifles a hiss with every step she takes. They’re nearing the center, wherever it may be, as the expanse of the room rolls outwards like the beat of war. Eurus nudges against her.

“There’s something ahead.”

Outlined against the cold haze is a boulder. It’s more like a sheer cliff of mountain face, shorn off, and it looms with something like malice. Hebe stares. Each step makes the shape clearer; shadows giving way to something more physical, more sustained. There’s something small at the bottom, and she squints against it, then her eyes go wide. She starts walking faster. Shape becomes flesh, shadow becomes real, the faint sight of burning feet and blue lips and tired, tired eyes, and Hebe is running. Eurus barely prevents himself from lifting off into the air, his wings half out, half mantled. 

“Zagreus!” Hebe shouts. The boy looks up. He almost stands, but there’s chains against him, chains that prevent him from fully standing or fully sitting, stuck in a half life as he is. His eyes are exhausted. Yet, there’s still kindness in them. 

“P-pardon?” Zagreus replies, words sticking together with cold. Hebe trips and still closes the last bit of distance, stumbling forwards and then dropping to her knees as her hands grab at the chains. They’re frozen solid, iron almost seering to the touch with it, and she closes her hands around them tightly.

“Zagreus- oh gods. Oh, gods.” Hebe can’t seem to say anything else, something like shock weighing in her mind so heavily that it blots out all other thoughts. Eurus is beside her and she doesn’t even notice. How does she get the chains off? She has to. She yanks at them desperately, rattling them like some moaning, groaning sounds, like the toll of the executioner drawing closer. 

“Are you sh-shades lost?” Zagreus asks, looking to them with concern. Him, concerned, when he’s the one in chains. His feet try to twist away from the ground, every touch seeming to dim the light of them. “He-hey, it’s alright, don’t-t cry, mate.” He wears a painfully plantative expression, still trying to lift a hand up to comfort her. 

Foolish. Hebe isn’t crying, because the tears would freeze to her face, here. Right? She looks to Eurus. “Cousin- the chains, help me, grab an end-“

Eurus drops down beside her. His hands search for a way to open them, nimble where hers are trembling. He seems like he’s in shock. Perhaps he is. Perhaps _she_ is. The cold is seeping through their enchanted cloaks, and Hebe can barely fathom how Zagreus feels, frozen solid. Frozen like the surface. Punishment. Hebe reaches up to his face, brushes frost off almost desperately. “Zagreus, just- just hang on, please-“

“There’s a lock!” Eurus calls, holding it in his hand with a wide eyed expression. They don’t have a key. Hebe grabs at it anyway, hands closing around the thing, wondering how it would dare to chain a god, how it could dare try to stop a goddess in her rage and desperation. Hebe is already formulating how to break the lock, shatter it so completely that not even dust remains, when there’s the sound of footsteps and a sigh.

“Not one more step,” Megaera the Fury commands, brandishing her whip. Hebe turns to face her, eyes wide, and Eurus tentatively reaches for the sickle he keeps at his side. Zagreus gives a pathetic sounding laugh. 

“Hey Meg, f-fancy seeing you here.” Zagreus ends the sentence with a cough. Blood drops from his mouth at the end of it, dribbling red onto the stark white ground; terrible contrast, sharp and burning. Megaera doesn’t seem moved.

“Really, Zagreus? Using shades to try and break out? You know what Lord Hades will do. What we have to do.” Her voice sounds harsh, but Hebe can see something almost like regret in her eyes. Oh mercy, mercy, everything here seems to scream, begging for something that cannot be given. There will only be blood; this much, Hebe does know. She stands from her knees. 

A flash of green light. The toll of a bell. It coos with the rattling of the chains that chain Zagreus, a mourning dirge. Thanatos, Eurus mouths beside Hebe, as the God of Death appears. And his face- oh, his face. Like his heart has been torn out, his expression locked away. There is a careful, calculated blankness to his gaze, but the sorrow screams out anyway. Hebe feels it choke her. But her own sorrow quickly gives way to something like rage. 

“Would you b-believe me if-f I said I was ju-just telling them to leave?” Zagreus attempts. Still, he is smiling. He is chained, held captive by his own companions, bleeding and freezing and cursed with undying, and he still smiles. Thanatos readies his scythe. Hebe feels her blood thrumming. The beat of war that her brother so covets. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. The march of the drum that every youth gone off to war sang with her. The cry they still give now. Thanatos turns to Hebe and Eurus, shadows cast across his face.

“Shades. Please, come with me,” Thanatos tries. He extends a hand out as he drifts over. Mercy- mercy for them, forgiveness for them, mercy for him to not have to see the one he loves being tortured, coward- coward as he looks away, as Megaera stalks towards Zagreus with the air of routine and violence that speaks of practice, professionalism, of course she’s going to do what has to be done and Thanatos won’t stop her and Zagreus is still smiling, still smiling, and Hebe-

Hebe snaps.

“No,” she says. The power of youth screams through her blood. The warriors cry of mercy. No more timid goddess of eternal life; no more deflecting and pretending and holding back. Hebe feels it grow within her, and she embraces it. She steps in front of Zagreus, and Eurus unmantles his wings, spreads them out wide and looming. Hebe’s words drip with rage. “Stay. **Back**.”

Megaera stops walking forward. Even Thanatos gives pause. 

“You aren’t shades,” Thanatos notes. Is that hope in his tone, buried deep? He draws his scythe anyway. Meg raises an eyebrow. 

“Intruders, then.” She holds out her whip. “You’re only going to make this worse for him.” 

Hebe doesn’t budge. She didn’t come this far to lose Zagreus now, and she won’t leave him here, chained up in the depths of Tartarus. “Eurus, you take Megera. I will face Thanatos.”

That startles a laugh out of Meg, and it quickly dies as she readies her stance. “I don’t know who you two are, but I hope you fight as well as you talk. Come on then.”

Eurus is a flash of an afterimage, and then he’s gone. Even with his powers sealed by Eris, he is still fast, and he launches into the fight against Megaera with a grim determination. Years of fighting with his siblings, years of watching heroes, and perhaps more, now put to the test against the strongest Fury. Hebe tears her gaze away from him. To Thanatos now. His scythe is drawn, and he is watching Hebe with a calculating edge. He is the god of death. She is the goddess of life. It is a fight she never hoped to have, but she is all too ready for, if it must be. Hebe steps away from Zagreus, curling her fists.

“Thanatos,” Hebe begins, circling him cautiously. Her feet dig into snow. Her throat burns. “I never expected you to be an oath-breaker.”

She makes the first move- has to, can’t hold herself back any longer. The snow muffles the sound of her rush forward, a contrast to the hiss she gives, the sound of the scythe swinging through the air and missing her. Hebe throws a rolling punch. Hits nothing but air, as Thanatos teleports away, and Hebe catches herself on the ground, transfers the energy into leaping upwards at the last second and throwing an elbow outwards. This one connects, the tender flesh of the torso, Thanatos giving a brief grunt of surprise. He reappears several steps away again. Hebe seethes.

“Coward!” She roars. “Betrayer!” Hebe lowers her stance, her fingers twitching with the desire to maim, to tear. Thanatos sweeps his scythe forward. 

“Zagreus disobeyed Lord Hades.” Thanatos finally speaks, swinging his weapon through the air and summoning a sigil of purple magic on the ground. Hebe scrambles to escape from it, and Thanatos watches her with an unreadable expression. “Do you think I want to do this to him? I have no choice.”

Nearby, Hebe sees Eurus get slammed into a wall, evidently not quick enough to dodge one of Megaera’s attacks. But he still has on a determined expression. He can win; he has to win. Hebe returns her attention to Thanatos, just barely escaping the edge of the sigil as it flares with light and death. She leaps at Thanatos. Manages a slashing punch across his side. The scythe digs into her back as she falls away, but the pain is only temporary. Golden ichor stains the snow where it drips. Thanatos’ eyes go wide.

“Hebe.” He says the name in shock. Perhaps this is a shock to him; the goddess of eternal life, meek and proper, here in Tartarus now, fighting Death to kidnap a prince. Hebe wipes away blood from her hand, shaking it out as she stands back up. There’s something different in his gaze now. But Hebe isn’t going to waste time trying to place it, not when he’s shocked and thrown off balance, a clear opening for an attack. She rushes him.

The first strike hits his head, dazing him. Dirty fighting. The memories of hundreds of children spring to mind, just which punches to throw to win, when honor isn’t something they’ve been taught yet. The head strike lets Hebe tackle Thanatos to the ground. Before he can teleport away or gather his senses, Hebe grabs his head and slams her own against it. Twists his arm to drop the scythe, and finally Thanatos fights back again, shoving her off and throwing his own punch, one that catches her in the chest. Hebe growls. Kicks him in the stomach and then they’re both standing up again, this time heaving. There’s something feral about brawling, and the youth of her domain makes Hebe sing with it. 

“Come on. Fight me! Kill me and keep Zagreus here for the rest of eternity!” Hebe shouts, loose hairs sticking to the back of her neck, her braided hair in disarray. “Is that not why you are here?! Come, Thanatos! Kill me! _For love!_ ”

Hebe rushes forward. The punches connect, one after the other, but now, it’s as though Thanatos is moving in slow motion. He barely defends himself. He raises his hands up far too slow, throws returning strikes that Hebe dodges away from, and his face is wrecked with pain. Not the physical kind, but the kind that the eyes scream from within. Regret. There’s nothing elegant about this fight, no dancing with swords or skillful parries. Hebe throws Thanatos to the ground and hits and hits and hits, and he doesn’t defend himself, doesn’t even try. Why isn’t he fighting back? Mere moments ago he was as she was, but now, it’s all drained from him. She raises her fist up again, then… stops. 

“Why won’t you fight back?” Hebe hisses. “This is what you wanted, is it not? Fight back! Kill me; tell Lord Hades how you won, how you kept his son in chains as requested! What’s one more broken bond, oath-breaker?”

Hebe goes to punch again, but Thanatos grabs her fist, stopping it. Looking at her. His eyes are so, so tired. So full of regret. But the edges- those crinkle with something like hope. Almost. “Take this.”

His other hand presses a key into her free hand. The metal is warm, the design is ornate. Hebe stares at him in disbelief. But Thanatos simply closes his eyes. His voice is a whisper, and it’s exhausted. “Lord Hades will come. Protect him better than I did, Hebe.”

And then, almost like a whisper, Thanatos’ body burns up into a hundred ethereal butterflies. They disappear into the air after a breath. Hebe looks up to Eurus and Megaera sharply, her attention fettered now. Eurus seems to be winning. Megaera may be skilled, but Eurus is still a god; a god, with all the terrible power it brings. He is the son of Titans. And it is a fact that he exploits now. Hebe stands up, going towards them, and she too is tired but she still has blood that boils and screams, and she will fight for as long as it is needed. She will not rest. 

“So, you killed Thanatos,” Megaera scoffs, wing flaring. “You’ve really messed up now. Do you have any idea what Lord Hades will do to you? To Zagreus?”

Eurus spins his sickle, letting the blood from it fling to the snow. “We’ll be long gone by then. And now it’s two against one, so maybe you should be the one running away.”

Megaera turns her attention away from Eurus. Looks over to Hebe, studying her. “Whatever luck brought you here, it’s going to run out eventually. Do you think you can hide Zagreus from Lord Hades forever? Do you think you just did him a favor? Because you didn’t. You’ve just made his life so, so much worse, and when Hades gets him back-” Megaera stops, coughs, holding her side. There’s blood from her mouth now. Oh; Eurus’ sickle. The blood drips into the snow. Megaera laughs. “I’m almost sorry for him.”

She sinks into the River Styx. Gone, just like that. Hebe and Eurus stand there in the snow and the cold, frozen like statues too, the frost clinging to them and the exhaustion radiating off of them in waves. Hebe’s hand still grips the key Thanatos gave her. The metal digging into her flesh spurs her forward, and she turns to Zagreus. Sees his eyes closed. Her heart climbs into her throat, and she finds the energy to rush towards him, the woosh of displaced air as Eurus flaps his wings beside her. 

“Zagreus-” Hebe forces the key into the lock, tearing it away, frantically tugging at the chains that bind him. Eurus is already in front of Zagreus, checking him over, his brow furrowed. 

“He’s alive. Just, not doing so good.” Eurus goes to grab some chains as well, pulling them off and tossing them to the ground. They seem to hiss against the snow. Hebe hears the final one fall off, and she catches Zagreus before he too can fall into the snow, hefting him up. He’s frozen to the touch and yet burning up, some sort of paradoxical state of being. Hebe tugs him into the cloak as much as she can. 

They did it. They have him.

But then the very chamber seems to shake, and a booming voice is heard throughout. A familiar, angry voice. “You dare?”

Lord Hades is coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realistically, than should wipe the floor with Hebe. But I don’t much care for realism here
> 
> Damn hades ur really not allocating your resources very well by having the already overworked Death have to also stop intruders that would break out Zagreus. Actually like. How many people have tried to break him out that this needs to be a protocol. Wow the author should rlly look into that plot hole
> 
> I’ve been thinking about writing a story where Hades is actually a good father. I might. I’ve some ideas


	10. Bearer of Flame! Hold Thy Breath

The wind in the chamber seems to flare back up in an instant. Eurus, perhaps in his fright, or perhaps on purpose. Zagreus is still incoherent and dazed in Hebe’s arms, but Hades is coming, and there’s no time for gentle jostling or prodding. Hebe shifts the hold, ensuring she has a firm grip on Zagreus- and thanking that he is a head smaller than Eurus, making it easier for her to run like this now. Maybe it’s more of a sprint, a frantic scramble for the exit- any exit will do. To the east there is a ledge, towards a sheer drop, even deeper into Tartarus. Hebe runs towards it; it’s either there, or back the way they came, a way that her Lord Uncle Hades would certainly be stomping down at this very moment. 

“The ledge!” Hebe shouts. Eurus nods. He unfurls his wings, stretching them out as far as he can, and then he takes up position behind Hebe. The ledge draws closer. It’s darker down there than anything Hebe has seen before in Hades, but it’s their only option now. She doesn’t close her eyes as she crosses the threshold, but she wants to. Sees the depths yawn at her, the brief moment of almost floating as her feet leap off the ground, empty air beneath her, her cloak flaring behind her. It seems like the void holds its breath.

“Gotcha!” Eurus calls. His arms hook under hers, and she feels the woosh of wind as his wings steady themselves, holding the weight of three people now. He cannot fly with this much capacity, but he can glide, and Eurus holds on to Hebe tightly as he forces the very air around them to turn to wind, to at least give them something to use as they are sent down into the unknown depths of Tartarus. Hebe’s gaze pierces the darkness first, seeing a brief blip of land in the nothingness, and she kicks a leg out to gesture to it. Eurus banks on the weak wind. Far, far behind them, Hebe can hear the sound of the ground trembling with rage; Hades, undoubtedly. Finding them gone. Hebe grips Zagreus tighter. 

The landing is not soft, but it is bearable. Eurus seems to try and steady it, but Hebe lets herself take the brunt of it, falling onto her already injured back with a slight grunt. At least here it is not as cold as Zagreus’ chamber. No snow, but the very air feels dead and stale. A forgotten depth of Tartarus. Eurus helps Hebe up, and they try to understand their surroundings, looking around with lost expressions. 

“Where are we?” Hebe whispers, more to herself than anything. Eurus shrugs helplessly. 

“Away from Hades at least, right?” Eurus looks down to Zagreus. “Maybe he knows? Should we wake him up?”

Hebe jostles Zagreus. His head lists to the side, and Eurus rudely grabs it, seemingly trying to stare Zagreus awake. Hebe frowns anxiously. “Why is he not waking up? Are you certain he is alright?”

Now it’s Eurus’ turn to look uneasy. “I- I think he’s fine. I don’t know, sometimes Notus or Boreas could overexert themselves and get sick, but… I mean, they never had to deal with, whatever this is.”

This being whatever Hades had done to Zagreus. Punishment for trying to escape. Punishment for his own good. Hebe looks at Eurus and wonders if he’s ever seen a parent harm their own child; likely not. Not like Hebe has seen. And yet, she’s still helpless here too. She looks back to Zagreus. 

“Well… some color is returning to his cheeks, and his fire is coming back. But, I… I’m not certain either.” Hebe worries her lip, then shakes her head. “Come. We will focus on getting out of Hades first, and then we can figure out how to help him. I am certain my family on Olympus will help.” She thinks. She hopes. They have to; right?

The landscape seems to shift and change as they walk. Not for the better, either. Oddly solid ground makes way to crumbled chambers, dark black pools of… something, embedded in the ground. Instincts tell Hebe to keep a distance. Sometimes, rocky pillars seem to jut out from the floor, or from the sides of walls, and every now and then Hebe is struck by the fact that they look strangely familiar in unsettling ways. The darkness is oppressive at this depth, but even worse is the lack of life they come across. Not even shades, down here, just what seems to be the remnant of a battlefield, or some eternal graveyard. 

“I swear that rock just blinked at me,” Eurus whispers. Hebe hunches in on herself and tugs his cloak further over his eyes. 

“The sooner we can get out of here, the better.”

But the landscape slowly becomes worse still. Things bleached white like bones curve and arch, black pools of ichor or such become lakes, almost oceans, dotted with fallen rocks and spindly pathways. Hebe is graceful, but in the polished marble of Olympus, unused to rugged terrain. And the feeling of pursuit still intensifies, as though Hades is gaining on them still, in the darkness. Eurus stops. He looks at her with the glint of someone who has a plan. 

“I… won’t be able to hold it for long, but I can shapeshift into something to get us across. Boreas has been helping me practice.”

Hebe hefts Zagreus back up in her arms. “Anything you think might help, cousin. I do not know what would happen if we fell into that blackness, but… I do not want to risk it. What do you have in mind?”

Eurus nods, mantling the wings he had been using for balance. “Well, you know how our other forms are horses? I should be able to hold mine even without much of my powers.” Eurus looks back to where they’d come from, “We’d be faster, too. If Hades is still chasing us…”

Then every second counts. Faster than Eurus having to wait as Hebe picks her way across the landscape. She nods to him. “Right. Then, let’s hurry.”

It’s always different, watching a god shift them form. Hebe’s father can do any multitude, from bull to bird, and yet, watching Eurus shift form, this is different too. It’s a brief feeling of wind, the air becoming displaced, and then Hebe blinks and Eurus is gone. Not gone- changed. Some horse type that Hebe doesn’t know the name of, but promises speed and agility. Something they desperately need right now. Hebe hoists Zagreus up first, then herself, placing him in front of her so that he won’t slide off the horse. He mutters something in his unconsciousness, his feet dully lit against Eurus’ coat. Behind them, the air seems to tremble. Eurus doesn’t need to be told twice; he takes off.

The landscape flies by. When Eurus said he was fast, Hebe hadn’t truly known what he meant, but now she can see firsthand. Despite the speeds, too, he is nimble, leaping over the black pools and the rocks that are shaped like hands, the rumbling becoming a distant memory behind them. They don’t know where they are going, but Hebe, despite herself, does not feel a sense of overwhelming fear. It feels as though the deeper they get into the darkness, something is drawing them towards… something. She doesn’t know. She looks back out to the stones strewn around them, the hands, the bones, and she wonders if this is where the Titans fell. Chained in the depths of Tartarus. The thought is chilling. 

“These are the Titans,” Hebe says, her voice loud against the air rushing past them. “Eurus, I-”

Eurus cuts her off with a snort. The landscape is becoming more treacherous. Still, something seems to be drawing them forward. From the way he runs, Eurus feels it too. They cannot go back; the only way is forward. Hebe holds tight to Zagreus, praying to her godly siblings that whatever this may be won’t end badly for them. No way but forward. Eurus is a blur on the landscape, the impossible darkness somehow growing in intensity, and Hebe squints through it to some middle point in the distance. One hand gripping Eurus’ mane. 

“I think I see something!” 

Something like stars? But they’re so deep in the underworld- it makes no sense. Yet the sight grows, a starfield, stretched between two pillars. Like a doorway. The only thing visible in the black, the only thing they can go for. Eurus jumps across a chasm, lands on uneven ground, takes another leap towards it, and something in the starfield beckons. Hebe cannot see through it, but she imagines she sees something impossible in nature, many heads and eyes and white like marble. It doesn’t scare her. If she could, she’d wonder why. But, instead, Eurus makes the final gallop to it, jumping the gap, and crossing through the gateway.

And-

For a brief moment-

_”Be well, Son of Hades.”_

-and they’re out again.

They land on solid ground. Though, land is a far nicely term than what Hebe would use, as Eurus skids across the polished marble and ultimately reverts back to his normal form. Hebe rolls with Zagreus, catching a pillar to stop them. She stares at the ceiling for a moment as she rests on her back. Eurus appears over her.

“Hebe? Come on, we gotta go. The exit is right here.” Eurus reaches down and helps hoist her up, and Hebe takes a moment to check on Zagreus again. He’s… not as cold as he was before, at least, but he still isn’t doing much better. She frowns.

“Zagreus. Zagreus, wake up.”

He does not. What he does do is turn, his face twisted in something like discomfort at best, or pain at worst. Hebe looks up, startled. She- what can she do? She doesn’t know. She can only hope that whatever is plaguing him will pass. Perhaps his body is recovering from the punishment it endured in the cold. Perhaps. Hebe turns to Eurus, and for a moment Hebe fears that the door will be guarded by Cerberus; he is said to prevent any escape from Hades, after all. But, he is not here. Tufts of red fur are the only sign that he ever was at all. It is just them, the entrance and exit of the Underworld. The way out. Freedom. 

They’d made it.

“Let’s go,” Hebe nods to Eurus. Whatever ails Zagreus can be dealt with on Olympus. He will be safe there. 

With one great collective heave, Hebe and Eurus push the door to the Underworld open. Snow buffets them the instant they do so, a wind so sharp and harsh that it cuts into Hebe’s skin. She shivers and covers Zagreus up with the cloak. And the instant they both cross the threshold of the doorway, a great life seems to fill them again. It’s as though Hebe can truly breathe for the first time, like taking off a dress that was too tight. She exhales. Power courses through her veins. She can feel that it is not their full power, not yet; they have not entirely absconded with Zagreus yet. But it is enough. Eurus extends his wings and laughs, hovering in the air, causing the wind around them to stop entirely on command. Hebe trills a familiar call, and after a few moments, Ganymede returns it, swooping down from the heavens and returning to her. She laughs gleefully. 

“Silly bird! I told you I would return, didn’t I?” Hebe giggles, letting Ganymede try to nest in her hair, clicking and chittering as he does so. The cold no longer feels as sharp, with her godhood return, and Hebe sheds the cloak that no longer serves a purpose, instead wrapping it around Zagreus in an attempt to keep him warm from the chill. Eurus flings his off with a triumphant sound. 

“We did it!” Eurus proclaims, turning to Hebe. “We really did it! I- well, I didn’t think we could really do it, maybe… but we did!”

“We did,” Hebe beams. They did it. Hebe saved Zagreus; she’s not a useless goddess anymore, she’s _done_ something for a change, and it feels- it feels perfect. To finally feel her domain. She laughs as she presses her face against Zagreus’ hair, before pulling back. Eurus is looking skyward. The setting sun colors the clearing with beauty, vivid reds like blood and poppy, yellows like ambrosia and nectar. 

“I’ve called my brothers. They should be here to help get Zagreus to Olympus and, well, congratulate us too I guess.” Eurus smiles and rubs the back of his neck. He is nearly the youngest of the winds, after all. Of course he’d want to tell his brothers immediately what he’d done. Hebe smiles with him.

“Of course.”

They begin to walk through the clearing. The gently drifting snow lands on Hebe’s face, sticking to her eyelashes, her rosy cheeks. She closes her eyes and feels peace.

The door to the Underworld slams open. Hebe and Eurus turn around, twin expressions of shock and fear, and there, standing in the middle of the doorway, is Hades. God of the Dead. Lord of the Underworld. The father of Zagreus; Zagreus, who Hebe is holding in her arms, about to whisk away. 

The doors crash shut behind Hades as he walks forward, spear in hand, cape clinging to him like a deadman’s shroud. His glare is sulfur and flame.

“No one leaves this realm,” Hades growls, hefting his spear at the ready. “Neither dead, nor alive. And you two have just made a grave mistake indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok next chapter is the fight scene sorry for anyone who thought it would be now. Gotta set the scene first. Gotta give the protagonists hope before I take it away right


	11. Dirge

The God of the Dead stands taller than either Hebe or Eurus. Taller, perhaps, even than Zeus. His entire stance radiates menace, and he stomps forward, burning feet leaving imprints in the snow beneath him. Despite herself, Hebe starts backing up. It’s one thing to fight the God of Death- for Thanatos had not even tried at all. But this is one of the original gods, one of the gods that defeated the Titans. A god with an entire realm in his domain. Hebe brings Zagreus closer to her chest, as though the proximity will keep him any safer. Ganymede shrieks a warning at Hades, already preparing to merge with Hebe, the feeling of phantom wings gathering. She needs to get Zagreus out of here; she can’t fight Hades. Gods, no one can fight Hades. Hebe feels Eurus ready beside her, gathering winds- thinking this is a fight they can attempt. But even at their full power, they could not. Now, they will be lucky to survive. 

“Eurus, no!” Hebe shouts. The brief divergence of her attention is enough of an opening for Hades to rush forward and attack. 

Lord Hades is fast. Even despite his size, he dashes forwards, crossing gaps like they are nothing, just a blink of an afterimage. He draws his spear back and Hebe just barely manages to dodge to the left, while Eurus goes to the right, the spear skewering right in the middle where they both once were. Hebe’s wings flare out and her eyesight sharpens and yet it will not help. She needs to get Zagreus out of here. But- but she cannot leave Eurus here either. Even worse still, she feels Zagreus starting to awaken from whatever ailing slumber, and she shoots to the other end of the clearing with a flap of her wings, blowing snow up around them to try and make some kind of cover. 

“Hold on- just, stay put Zagreus,” Hebe babbles, dropping him down near a section of pillars that seem to form a doorway. Zagreus coughs and curls into himself, barely looking to her, seemingly just focusing on the steady in and out of breathing. 

“Oh, h’lo Hebe,” Zagreus mumbles, before his eyes drag closed again and he coughs. And Hebe wants nothing more than to stay there with him, but she can hear Eurus on the other side of the battlefield drawing Hades’ attention, going to get himself _hurt_ , and Eris had said that whatever injuries they sustain will _injure_ them, like a mortal, and Hebe can’t allow Eurus to fall. So she spins, leaving Zagreus hidden in the cover of brush and greenery, rushing back to the battle that is fated to fail. Wounds will heal. The slash across her back, she will recover. But a wound like a missing limb- oh, gods. She draws their attention before the thought can progress.

“Hades!” Hebe yells, and he is arrogant enough, perhaps rightly so, that he turns and looks to her for a brief moment. Just a glance, at most. Enough for Eurus to slip to the side, out of range of the attack, and for Hebe to sprint forwards with a gust of wind under her wings, placing herself at the center of his attention. “Eurus, get Zagreus out of here!” 

Eurus nods and scrambles towards the side, “Got it!” but not before Hades throws his spear and a fiery sigil appears under his feet. 

“Wretches of the Underworld! Stop these intruders!” Hades commands. At his words, the clawing hands of dead warriors burst from the ground, zeroing in on Eurus and leaping to him. Stopping him from leaving. Hebe curses in a way that would make Hera blush. Hades is unmoved. He picks his spear back up, pointing it to her. “And you! You dare try to trick me? To steal my own son?”

“You had him locked up!” Hebe retorts, jumping into the air with a flap of her wings to dodge a sweeping strike. “That’s not love! That’s _torture!_ ”

“I will discipline my child however I see fit! Those of you on Olympus are to **stay out of my affairs!** ”

He launches something like a sickly green skull at her, the flames licking at the edges, far faster than she can hope to dodge out of the way. It strikes her square in the chest, and then, she’s falling from the sky, landing on the snow with a hard but muffled thud. Her hands claw at her chest. _Her blood is burning_. It spreads through her limbs and she even feels it deep in her ribs, and all she can do is stumble to her feet and barely dodge another jab. Helplessly, she looks over. Eurus is down to just a few undead now. He just needs a little more time. Hebe flares her wings large, making herself look like an inviting target, and perhaps a foolish one. 

“He just wanted to find his mother!” Hebe shouts. 

This was the wrong thing to say. Hades seems to suddenly burn with rage, and almost a faint terror, zeroing in on her with a terrifying determination that makes her realize her mistake almost instantly. She isn’t supposed to know that. Hades charges at her with twice the speed, completely ignoring Eurus in favor of her. He thrusts his spear; this time, it clips Hebe in the side. The blood on the snow is orange and glowing gold. 

“ **How do you know that?** ” Hades _demands_ , drawing back and attacking again, getting her wing. “ **The Olympians cannot know!** ”

“I-” Hebe barely ducks out of the way of a swing that would have taken her head. “Only I know! Only I know and I will not tell anyone, I swear!”

“ **The word of an Olympian?** ” Hades lets out an explosive, mocking laugh, cruel as it is. Hebe catches the spear tip between her wrists before it can reach her chest, but Hades simply pulls it back and goes for her exposed midsection. This one hits. Hebe feels it pierce her, going completely through, and she coughs blood in shock. There is no pain, despite this. Just surprise, the moment freezing in the snow. Hades rips the spear out, and Hebe still yet stands, though it is weak and struggling. Eurus is running to grab Zagreus now. 

“Uncle Hades, please-” Hebe chokes on her own blood, most of it trying desperately to flow out of her mouth as she speaks. Looking up at the man her father had always praised, the hero of fairytales at night. Begging. Hoping. But Hades just stares at her coldly. 

“I care not for my family on Olympus. Do you not yet know that? Perhaps you have assumed my cruelty towards Zagreus is the extent of my wrath?” Hades stomps forward, closing the gap and drawing his spear back. “No. That is kindness. To you, and those on Olympus, I can do much worse.”

He swings. It connects. Hebe clutches at her chest plantatively as she falls to the ground, feeling the warmth that always infused her beginning to spill out. Oh. She’s dying. Can gods die, she wonders blearily, feeling herself disconnect. Will she come back? The fear she should feel is being drowned out by a blissful nothingness, and her eyes watch blankly as Hades turns and sees Eurus bundling Zagreus into his arms and flying off. Eurus is fast, of course. But he is not at his full power. And Hades hefts his spear into the air and throws it.

Hebe hears the impact, but does not see it, as her eyes close. Hears Eurus scream. Hears the sound of wings flapping, his brothers must have arrived, hears him shout something-

“Zagreus-”

Zagreus is grabbed by another. Wings flap. Eurus’ pained breathing reverberates through the area, in sync with Hebe’s dying breaths. She hears him beg.

“No, no-”

Plead.

“Don’t!-

Shout.

“Let go!-”

And finally, hears Hades. “You think you can fly away from me, boy? You shall never fly again.”

There is a tearing sound. Hebe is fading, everything is compressed and distant, but she can hear that clearly. Hears a shriek like a god dying in the only way that could matter. Eurus. 

Ganymede cries out in the night. And then, Hebe drops into darkness, and there is no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oopsie poopsie looks like hebe had a fucky wucky


	12. The Eagle and the Liver

Hebe always wondered what happened when a god died. 

She is floating in an inky mire. There seems to have been no moment between death and this, between her eyes finally sliding closed and her mind losing the last shred of its tether. Here, it seems as though she exists without truly existing. No body, no self, just an infinity of eternity. 

But gods don’t die. Hebe knows this. She cannot be dead, because gods cannot die; she must yet live. But how, she begs the abyss. But where. She cannot fight an entity she cannot see, lying in this nothingness, like drifting through the wax of a candle, down, down, down. 

Sensations, though. That must mean something. Hebe can feel her fingers now, present where there were none before. And fingers must be attached to hands, attached to arms, to a torso, to a head. She opens her eyes and sees darkness still, but darkness that tinges the eyelids pink, and she feels her hair weighted down by something, heavy with liquid. Hebe reaches upwards. Finds purchase, some divot, something to dig her fingers into in this prison. And she _prys_. The prison starts to crack. Liquid moonlight seeps in through the opening, and she cracks it open with a sound like a pomegranate being pried apart. One hand shoots out into the night, feeling the cold snap of air against her wet skin, and she forces the other arm out, grasping around wherever she is. She can feel snow. Snow means ground, and she digs her hands beneath the snow, into the dirt, dragging herself out further. Her head exits and shoulders, torso, and she heaves her upper body out with gasping breaths she doesn’t truly need. 

“I,” she hisses, crawling the rest of the way out, “Am. Not,” she coughs, “Dead!”

Out! She’s finally out! She lays there in the snow, shivering, and she holds up a hand and sees that she’s coated in golden, glowing ichor, which is slowly bleeding back into her flesh. Forming into clothes, as it flows down, and Hebe looks over to see where she came from. 

Her old body lay peacefully in the snow, the chest wound that had slain her her exit. Like a snake molting. Hebe blinks slowly, watching it dissolve into golden ichor, the same that covers her now, and as she looks away, she wonders if all gods come back in such a morbid way. Or if it is only her role as eternal life that necessitates such a rebirth- in the literal sense.

The thought leaves her after a moment, as a familiar squawk calls beside her. Ganymede lands in the snow at her side. Thankfully unharmed by her death. Hebe reaches out and picks him up, painfully tender. 

“Oh, Ganymede…” Hebe sighs softly. He fluffs his wings and makes the sound a chick would make to its mother, and Hebe gently scritches his head. “I-”

Hebe stops. Her eyes go wide. “Eurus! Zagreus!”

Instantly, she is up from her spot in the snow, fully reconstituted, though her attire and hair seem to have changed. It is of little consequence at the moment. Instead, she sets Ganymede aflight, before taking off running through the ice and night. “Eurus! Zagreus!” Hebe calls. Her voice cracks. How long had she been gone for? She remembers- remembers how Eurus screamed, and nothing more. Oh gods, Eurus! Hebe runs faster, stumbling through the snow now, noting with terror that there seems to be no wind in the air at all. Ganymede struggles to keep himself aloft. He calls to her still from ahead, and Hebe turns to follow him. 

The path is a battleground. Deep gouges litter the earth, footsteps burned into the snow, now ice where it has refrozen, and Hebe can see where Eurus took flight, by the feathers that are stuck in the ground. And she covers her mouth in horror at the blood only several lengths away, and the heavy depression of impact. Where Hades’ spear had been thrown and connected. So much blood- the color of the gods, the color of pain. There is a pool of it, seared into the snow now, and a pile of torn primary and flight feathers that bode poorly. That something must have happened to Eurus’ wing. 

“By the gods,” Hebe chokes out. But she cannot stop running, because Zagreus is not in sight and Ganymede is still flying ahead. So Hebe runs. She sees the liftoff point again, where the blood stops, where either Eurus flew off under his own power, or his brothers took him. And another, flying through the snow, followed by the burning footprints. Followed, then stopped after a time. Hades must have been outpaced. By one of the brothers, then. Ganymede calls into the night, and Hebe sees another point where an exchange happened, a small scrap of the black cloak she gave Zagreus now in the snow, with a few molted wings. Notus. His wings had still been growing in. They must have given Zagreus to him so they’d both be safe, while the elder sibling went back for Eurus too. Hebe follows the way that Ganymede leads her, until finally, after her fists burn from being clenched so tightly, finally Ganymede stops at a hollow in the rockface, hidden by trees and brush. Hebe shoves her way forward. 

“Zagreus? Notus?” Hebe calls. Her voice echoes back to her, eyes readjusting, until she sees a black bundle near the back of the cave, two wings peeking over the edges, and little else. It is enough. Hebe rushes forward, tripping towards it and dropping to her knees, her hands grabbing the fabric in hesitant fistfuls. She pulls the edge of the cloak back, and there is Notus, there is Zagreus, both of them unconscious and curled into the cloak. Hebe reaches out and grabs Notus, almost fearfully, pulling him close and checking to see if he was hurt. Notus lets out a sleepy noise.

“Hebe, hi,” Notus yawns. Hebe hugs him tightly. He’s so young, and because of Hebe, now he is in danger too. A part of her wants to hold onto him for as long as she can, as if that would make him any safer. But she knows she cannot. She sets him back down and checks him over once more, just to be safe. 

“Notus- oh, gods. What happened?” Hebe frantically turns to Zagreus, seeing the shallow rise and fall of his chest, the fragile sound of his breathing. “What happened?” Hebe repeats, weaker now. 

“I can’t fly all the way back home on my own, so I waited for you.” Notus blinks, sitting down beside her and tilting his head to Zagreus. “I tried to wake up cousin Zagreus but he’s still sleeping.” Notus crinkles his nose. “Is he gonna be okay?”

Hebe’s hands are shaking as she checks Zagreus over. She affects a smile for Notus, something that she’s practiced with her family for long enough to know that it works, and speaks in a voice that doesn’t show any of the fear she feels growing. “I… Notus, how about you go out and play with Gany, okay? Stay near the cave entrance.”

At the mention of Ganymede, Notus perks up, his small wings fluffling up in excitement as he nods. “Okay! I will!” Notus scampers off, his giggles echoing through the cave as he and Ganymede find one another. His absence is felt in the silence, as Hebe turns back to Zagreus. 

“Zagreus-“ Hebe bows her head. She is leaned over him like a shadow now, a shroud, and her hair seems to form some curtain of darkness that blots out his face, smoothing out the lines of pain in his expression with the greys. “Zagreus. Zagreus, wake up.” Hebe begs with a soft desperation “Please- Zagreus, wake up. You’re safe now. You’re safe, you have to wake up, Zagreus-“

Zagreus lets out a cough. He laboriously opens his eyes, and has the nerve to smile weakly at her, as though he’s not dying. “Oh. Hello there… didn’t think I’d- see you again.”

“Hebe. I’m your cousin, Hebe,” Hebe whispers. “I’m here to help you. We- you’re alright now, you’re out of Hades. You are safe.”

But if that’s the case, then why does Zagreus appear worse, not better? She draws closer to him. Sees how he looks no better than he did down in Tartarus, that the flames on his soles are dimming like embers, dying. Zagreus gives a little choked laugh. His smile is like daggers in her heart, and he shivers against the cold. 

“Oh, this? I’m fi-fine. Happens on the surface.” He exhales, exhaustion in the sound. Hebe seizes at it. 

“No- no, I- Zagreus, you-” Hebe reaches out. Hesitates, then grabs his hand. It’s frozen like the winter, any warmth leaching out into the air of the surface; her fingers graze his pulse, the ebb and flow of his own blood coming to a halt. A slow, agonizing eventuality, as he lays there, dying. Dying. He- he’s _dying_. Hebe’s grip falters. “No- _no_.”

“Sorry,” Zagreus apologizes, squinting, “I- should’ve told you it was useless to try and- save me.” The sound trails off, wrapping around Hebe’s throat, and Zagreus shivers again, trying to curl in on himself, the smile falling off his face with a wrack of what must be pain. “Don’t- don’t tell the other Olypmians. I’m already a god of nothing, I can’t- they can’t know this too.”

Hebe grabs the sides of Zagreus’ face, as if she can force the heat from her own sunlit blood into him. She’s shaking. How ugly of her. “A god of nothing? Zagreus- Zagreus, do not say such things. You’re _life_ , blood, and- and everything Athena and Ares and everyone says of you. You are _important_.” If she says the words with enough conviction, maybe he will believe them. She leans towards his face, looking him in the eyes, willing her voice to sound stronger than it is. “Where would the mortals be without blood, life?”

Zagreus just laughs. It sputters in the darkness, and Hebe fears with every inhale that it will be his last. “Aren’t you th-the goddess of life?”

The shadows cast over Hebe’s face. “I- I am cupbearer to the gods. The Goddess of Eternal Life, Eternal Youth. What do I have over mortals, cousin? Nothing. It’s- it’s _you_ who matters. And you’ve already done so much- you have brought my family back together, and brought vigor to the mortal realm, and- and you are more important than you could ever know.” She drops a hand down to squeeze his hand, tightly, trying to instill strength. “That is why you cannot die. You cannot die, Zagreus, not here- you cannot go back to Hades. I promised I would save you, and I will- I have to. Please, Zagreus- please, don’t die…”

Yet, Zagreus closes his eyes still. It is a soft sound, but it might as well be the slamming of a tomb in the silence. His grip is getting weak. Hebe holds him twice as strongly, twice as desperately “Zagreus- please, don’t do this, Zagreus, Zagreus!”

Hebe is seized by a sense of failure, so keen, so sharp, so poisonous and awful that it feels like she’s drowning. Her life essence is at her fingertips, yet Zagreus is ailing, failing, he’s dying and she- she, the Goddess of Eternal LIfe, cannot save him. Her own domain- how useless! A useless goddess fit only to remain on Olympus, coddled, a failure. Unable to save even a single little god, unable to help, watching as Zagreus dies beneath her and no matter how much power she tries to push into him, it is nothing. Tears are unbecoming of a goddess, mother once said, but Hebe yet cries. She can do nothing. She is nothing. She is a failure, and Zagreus is dying, and Hebe- Hebe can do nothing but watch. 

“Or,” a whispery voice echoes from the rocks, “You could try harder.”

Hebe jerks her head up. Sees nothing and no one, but there is the wisp of fingers around her wrists, a shadowy laugh like disharmonious bells. The voice is right beside her ear, yet not. It guides her hands to her chest. “I don’t think, little goddess, that you’ve tried _everything_ , right?”

Hebe yanks her hands away, but they remain, and for a moment she sees the red strings of fate that stretch infinitely across the universe, the life lines of eternity that she holds partial domain over. The way they ebb, and beckon. How her own string of fate is so strong, and Zagreus’ so weak. The voice of the Lady Strife is beside her again. Gently and comforting, like a mother. 

“You don’t want him to die… do you?”

“No,” Hebe whispers. She reaches her fingers out to grip her red line. What is a string, if not a thousand strands? Surely she can spare a few. For Zagreus. Zagreus must not die. She cannot fail. 

“You can do it,” Eris’ voice has the sound of a smile. It seems to dissipate into the air, with each strand that Hebe peels away from her own, adding to Zagreus’ line. Or perhaps that is simply Hebe growing weaker; weaker and weaker, yet still forcing herself onwards, because Zagreus has to live, and she cannot stop now. Feels her own godliness weakening. It’s not enough. Zagreus is still dying, and it’s _not enough_. But she’s so weak. Hebe can barely lift her hands now, and she gasps into the air, pained. There is one final whisper in her ear.

“Here. Let me help.” The presence seems to guide Hebe’s hands. One last strand. Hebe reaches out, tears it from her own soul, feels every inch the agony it entails, and laboriously ties it to Zagreus’ red string of fate. Eris gives another soft laugh, and then just as suddenly as she had appeared, she is gone. Hebe’s hands drop. She barely catches herself on the ground as she falls forward, heaving breaths, limbs shaking and trembling with effort to hold herself up. The world feels like it’s tilting sideways. 

“Zagreus,” Hebe manages, forcing herself to look at him. A hint of color returns to his complexion. The embers on his feet seem to alight. It is a moment of blazing hope, as he opens his eyes, and yet… nothing more. No sudden burst of strength. Just Zagreus, awake now, his burning soles still dim, his skin still pale. Just as he was in Tartarus, chained away. But- but not failing anymore. Only steady. Locked in the middle of a death he will not have. He looks to her with something like confusion.

“Hebe- what, what happened?” Zagreus looks to her. Watches as Hebe just barely brings herself to her feet, her stance shaky. Her face, though; this is a smile of triumph. Pain, agony too, but victory. She did it. She is not so useless after all; she stopped death. 

“You have a chance,” Hebe whispers. Does not trust her voice to go any higher, not yet. Not until she can stand without the world tipping over, feeling weaker than even when Eris had locked away her godhood. “We- we must get to Aeolia. You will be safe there.”

And Hebe turns to the entrance of the cave, where Notus and Ganymede play together, gleeful. Her smile is poisoned by sudden fear. For it is not just for safety that Hebe wishes to go to Aeolia; it is the last scream she heard from Eurus, too, that marks the plan. What happened to him? What happened, that they would leave little Notus? The fear only grows as Hebe stands there, staring out into the cold, feeling it fester in her very heart too. 

She will soon find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m obsessed with hebe and her choices. She just... used half of her entire power or lifeforce to stop Zagreus from dying. She literally just stopped Rebirth from Doing What He’s Supposed To Do. And don’t forget that now Eternal Life is in danger too. I’m absolutely obsessed 
> 
> The Fates watching this happen: 👁️👄👁️   
> Eris: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 
> 
> Time to go to Aeoliaaaa. Why I bet this will go nice and nothing will go wrong, right


	13. Nevermore the Wind, Nor the Breeze

There is no wind tonight. Hebe steps outside of the cave, helping Zagreus walk shakily beside herself- even though she too struggles to maintain poise, to at least keep up the illusion of it. His breathing is ragged still, and he yet remains bundled in the Cloak of Eris, the edges of it dragging into the snow. Hebe’s hair sticks to the back of her neck, and she feels something like a fever crawling up her cheeks, resting heavily upon her brow despite her divinity. The cool air comes as a relief. Hebe sees Notus and Ganymede right where she told them to remain, with Ganymede swooping between low branches and giving squeaky cries that mimic the sounds of delight Notus makes. 

“Notus,” Hebe croaks, and he spins around, turning towards her with glee. She can feel happiness radiating off of him, the earlier fear discarded in the way that children do. There’s the remnants of red near the corners of his mouth, little splotches staining his fingers too, berries Ganymede must have plucked for him to eat as he giggles and waves. 

“Hebe! And Zag!” Notus runs to them, his wings flapping as he does so. Ganymede flies down and lands upon Hebe’s shoulder, chittering in her ear, information she absently listens to. Just that they are safe yet, that Hades has not returned to try and find them. Hebe barely manages to lean down and pick Notus up before he slams into her knees, and even that action leaves her winded and struggling for a moment, hefting him up in her arms. He tilts his head at her, then to Zagreus, brow scrunched up. 

“Cousin Hebe… are you okay? You look like how papa gets sometimes, when he’s sick,” Notus wiggles a little, clumsily reaching out to try and take her temperature perhaps. Hebe forces a light laugh, intercepting the hand and lightly returning it to him, using the back of her own hand to wipe off his face. The red reminds her too much of Zagreus’ blood. Red, like a mortal. Persephone had bled red once, too, when she’d pricked her finger in the garden. Hebe tears the memory from her mind. 

“Yes, little cousin. I- we are alright. But we must return you to Aeolia, and, perhaps give Zagreus some time to recover.” Hebe does not mention that she, too, could use a moment to rest. Most importantly, she does not mention her fear for Eurus. It rests in her gut like a swallowed stone, only gaining weight and dread as time drags on, with each instance of air that is not accompanied by any winds. Notus yet conjures up a weak one, almost warm beneath him as he stretches his wings out and nods.

“Okay! I can’t really fly with Zagreus though, he’s too big.” Notus scrunches up his nose apologetically. Zagreus looks up sheepishly too.

“No hard feelings.”

“I can carry him.” Hebe readjusts her grip on Zagreus, putting more conviction into her words than what she truly feels. “Just stick close to us as we fly, little Notus. You are the only wind in the night sky now.”

Hebe releases him. Notus rises above her, spinning in place as he orientates himself to Aeolia, then turns back to her. Hebe blinks as her own eyesight readjusts, spreading shared wings now and pausing, just for a moment, as she feels herself grow stronger. Not by much, but enough for her to notice, to close her eyes and purse her lips and mutter, “Silly bird,” with something like gratefulness and guilt. Forever looking out for her. Hebe turns to Zagreus, leaning down to pick him up. He laughs a little at it. 

“This is more than I’ve ever been picked up my entire life, I think,” he says with a smile. The levity is lost on Hebe, morphing more to regret in her chest. She looks away from him, perhaps so he cannot see the way her face falls. Her voice, though, is easier to fake.

“Perhaps when we find Persephone that will change.”

Hebe lifts off. She feels Zagreus tense in her arms, in a way that is not entirely because of the sudden movement. Notus is in front of her, but only barely, sticking to the right as he flies and generates a wind for them. The air feels heavy and humid, like storms rolling in, with each gust that Notus brings. The promise of summer, false and illusionary. Hebe knows this, yet it stirs longing in her heart, and she banks heavily on one particular squall in retaliation. Ships far below move beneath them, some sailors crying in relief so loudly that Hebe hears from afar, and the dread is sticky and cloying like rot. Where are the other winds? What happened, to cause their collective absence? To leave little Notus alone?

Aeolia breaks on the horizon, and soon, Hebe knows she will have her answer. Notus slows his pace, and Hebe follows, the screaming wind becoming a mournful whisper instead. Enough of a break for Zagreus to speak up to her, as Notus flies farther ahead. 

“I- what do you know of Persephone?” Zagreus sounds uncertain, distrustful, the wariness in his voice at odds with his usual genuine inflection. Because Hebe isn’t supposed to know about Persephone; none of the other Olypmians do. It had been her mistake with Hades, and she will not repeat it with Zagreus.

“I helped her escape,” Hebe mutters, tucking the words in, smothering them. It is just enough of the truth that Eris’ contract allows it. Not truth enough to fulfill it, but now is not the time. Not as Notus lands on Aeolia and beckons Hebe towards him. Thankfully, Zagreus allows it, seeming to mull over the words and, at the very least, decide that Hebe is worth trusting. As Hebe approaches Aeolia, the burning fear crackles at the edges of her lungs; the wind barrier that would prevent any approaches is gone. She lands heavily on the edge of the floating island, clutching Zagreus closer. When she looks up, Notus is still waiting at the treeline, waving at her.

“Hebe! Come on!” Notus jumps up and down, growing frustrated as she moves too slow for his liking and instead deciding to rush towards her and grab her hand to tug her along. Zagreus stands on his own two feet beside her, managing to keep pace with the excited young wind god. Perhaps it helps that Hebe has a wing wrapped around him to help as well. They walk through the small forest, much darker now that it is wrapped in shadows, and when they enter the courtyard Hebe realizes that all the lights are off but those of the palace proper. Even the fountain is silent.   
“Papa!” Notus calls, tugging Hebe forward. “We’re home!”

There is silence. A faint wind blows past them, and Hebe freezes at the sound of anguish it carries with it, pure and raw. It slices through her. From the inside of the palace, two figures hurry out, and Hebe places them as Boreas and Aeolus before their torchlight drenches their features. Notus eagerly lets go of Hebe’s hand to wave. He manages two full steps forward before Boreas runs up and grabs him, snatching him up and running back to Aeolus. Almost- almost protectively. But that doesn’t make sense. Notus beams anyway, smiling at his eldest brother and hugging him. Boreas, uncharacteristically serious, returns it with closed eyes.

“Notus, thank the gods you’re safe,” Boreas whispers, “We’re so, so sorry we didn’t come back for you. It- your big brother Eurus is… he really needs us all right now.”

Notus blinks. “Huh? What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong indeed. Hebe turns to Aeolus, who is watching her with a calculating wariness. In a brazen display of unexpected insult, he has his old sword strapped to his side, like when he was young. Though he does not dare place his hand upon the hilt, the message seems to be clear. But why to Hebe, she doesn’t know. Nor can she explain why the wind has picked up, this time cold and cutting, the cold of winter. Zagreus shivers beside her. 

“Aeolus. What has happened to Eurus?” Hebe’s voice is strong, but her eyes are not, and she thanks Nyx that the darkness hides this weakness. But from Aeolus, Hebe’s own sharp gaze is given no respite, as she sees his own eyes harden. 

“Eurus was gravely injured during your fight with the Lord of the Dead. It is possible he- that it is… permanent, Hebe.”

Permanent-

The wing feathers. The blood. Hades’ words, _you shall never fly again_. Hebe feels all the warmth drain from her heart, and almost on reflex, her wing further curls around Zagreus, as if to shield him from the horrors of the words. The wind has picked up even further now. From inside the palace, Hebe hears another long, drawn out scream, muffled and hoarse. Notus is hiding his face in Boreas’ shoulder, and Boreas is looking at her with something like thinly veiled contempt. Hatred, perhaps even. How he always wore his heart upon his sleeve. Now, it stabs at Hebe like a knife. 

“His wing,” Hebe whispers, the sound barely audible above the wind, and then she raises her voice, as if it could raise her spirit too, “Aeolus, I swear to you, I had no intention of any harm to come to Eurus! Please, I- I am so, so sorry, and shelter is all I beg-”

“Hebe,” Aeolus’ voice is loud and firm, “I appreciate all your efforts, I understand your hardships, but I cannot allow any more harm to come to my children; leave Aeolia.”

It is a simple proclamation. Hebe has heard worse in her time. But never has she heard such directed at her. Never has one of her oldest allies, and perhaps even friends… turned her away. Not even something as simple as turning her away, but casting the fault on her, and casting her out in what amounts to an exile. It freezes her more than the wind ever could. Hebe’s hair is torn from her face, billowing behind her, and Zagreus manages to peak from the side of her wing with shock. 

“I- but it wasn’t her fault, it was mine!” Zagreus tries to defend. Neither Aeolus nor Hebe pay him any mind. They would no sooner fault a child for falling, or the sins of their parent. Instead, Hebe tries to say the tears in her eyes are from the wind seering them, not something else.

“Aeolus- please, don’t do this,” Hebe replies. Some of the formal regality bleeds from her voice with the desperation. “Zagreus needs shelter- he is hurt, and I cannot fly him any farther, and I- Aeolus, _please don’t do this!_ ”

Please don’t abandon me, Hebe wants to say. Feels her worst fears blossoming like poppies before her eyes. Another shriek rattles the house, heart-wrenching sob that only makes Hebe’s expression shatter and Aeolus’ go dark. 

“Zagreus is welcome to stay here with us, but for you, Hebe, I am out of advice and out of patience. I will only say this one more time; leave Aeolia.”

Hebe nearly breaks with it. The wind is howling, so forceful and strong that it nearly blows her away, and yet Hebe turns to Zagreus, her eyes full of wind-made tears and a mouth full of pain like irons. He gives her a look of betrayal that she would even consider it. “No- no I, I won’t.”

Hebe turns to Aeolus one last time. As if he might change his mind and welcome her back with open arms. But instead, he turns his gaze from her, looking instead to Boreas and nodding. Notus looks to Hebe with wide eyes. His voice is too young to be heard over the roaring winds, and his hand reaches out anyway, as if that would help. Hebe cages her eyes and grabs Zagreus, unfolding her wings and letting the winds slam against them. Sending her flying off. Over the treeline, over the edge of Aeolia, and where there was no barrier before she finds one now, forcing her far, far away from the island floating above the sea. At the very least, Hebe does not sob, but it is only the shock, she thinks, that stops it. That she has to be strong enough for Zagreus. That even though her entire body burns and stomach churns, that she feels as though her strength is being leeched with each breath she manages, she must continue on. 

“That’s- that’s not right,” Zagreus tries to shout, even though he struggles with the force of it, “This was my fault- why did he punish you? Hebe-”

“It’s fine,” Hebe lies through her teeth, “Please, cousin, I- Olympus. I must go to Olympus. Father will be able to help you. It’s going to be okay, it’ll be okay there, it’s going to be okay…”

She repeats the phrase, and it is clear that it is for herself now. As she struggles to fly, the winds gone from the sea now. That, in fact, the only wind she finds under her wings is that of late summer, heavy with the promise of storms. Little Notus. The ways of children who don’t know any better. 

When they get to Olympus, everything will be fine. Because otherwise- 

Hebe doesn’t want to think about what will happen otherwise. Instead, she flies onwards, towards the city that is her home, and wills her mind to forget Eurus’ screams. Yet, the wind sounds of them yet. 

She flies onwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My precious daughter, everything you do seems to just make things worse and I love you deeply 
> 
> And the thing is you can’t really fault Aeolus cause he’s right
> 
> Tfw ur kind-of-dad friend bans you from his house forever because you crippled your best friend lol


	14. Ah! Oh For Love

Olympus is wreathed in the light of dawn. Hebe has not flown for long, yet it must have been, as Helios’ chariot begins to draw across the horizon and the first rays of the sun dash pink across Zagreus’ face. He is watching it in awe. It must be a rare sight, for one confined to the Underworld. Hebe heaves herself through the air with great flaps of her wings; almost mortal, in a way, the mechanical motion she forces herself through, the rest of her divine strength too sapped for anything else. The Home of the Gods is, as always, delicately decorated with clouds, and near the edges Hebe can make out the signs of her family coming and going, living as they always do. It wrenches her, a sudden feeling of homesickness so strong she attributes most of it to the waning strength that Ganymede gave her being replaced by nausea. She’s almost home now. Father will know what to do. Mother would have known even more, but she’s away with Hestia and the others now, after fighting with father again. But Hebe won’t be picky. She knows father will help; he has to. 

“So this is Olympus,” Zagreus says, sounding genuinely curious at the sight of it. Hebe manages a beaming smile. 

“Yes. It is wonderful- though,” and it sours slightly, “in the sense that a gilded cage is perhaps wonderful.”

That is why Sister Artemis left, after all. Though Hebe is granted no such luxury. 

Hebe’s favored courtyard draws closer, and she banks on the wind Notus provided one last time, using it to force some kind of a landing. Zagreus knows well enough to hold on, as the wind finally dies off and Hebe uses sheer wingpower to glide the remaining distance. She makes it most of the way before the wings give out, and Hebe takes the landing in a roll, sliding across her back and coming to a stop on the smooth marble. Her wings give one plantative flap, then another, before they dissipate into themselves and Ganymede is resting on her hair. He gives something of an exhausted huff. With him leaves the last of his given strength, and Hebe exhales, the sound rattling her vocal chords as she does so. Were she tired before, she is indescribably exhausted now. 

“Hebe? Are you okay?” Zagreus asks, peering down at her and glancing over to Ganymede. Ganymede squawks. “And, Ganymede too.”

“Maybe,” Hebe manages, not moving from her spot on the marble floor. It is blessedly cool, and she closes her eyes for a moment, trying to recuperate. Hears Zagreus struggle to his feet after a few wobbly attempts, and then he reaches down, picks Ganymede up and sets the bird on his shoulder. There is silence for a moment. Some shuffling. The sound of the fountain doing whatever it is fountains do. 

“Here. Drink this.” Hebe opens her eyes as Zagreus extends a filled amphora to her. Hebe grabs at it clumsily, tipping it back and drinking at least some of the water. The rest of it she gracelessly spills, feeling more akin to a useless child than any regal goddess. Yet Zagreus says nothing, taking the amphora back and setting it down. He sits back on the fountain’s edge, giving off a sigh of relief. Ganymede chirps as he dozes too. 

“Y’know, I always thought Olympus would be full of nectar and ambrosia,” Zagreus muses, running his hand through the water of the fountain. Hebe pries her eyes open somewhat. 

“It is. I just can’t stand it.”

“Can’t stand nectar and ambrosia?” Zagreus eyes her incredulously. “I don’t know mate, that seems a little odd.”

“Not when I’m the one making all of it,” Hebe honestly whines, the mask of regality slipping. She cringes immediately at the slight, quickly forcing herself to her elbows to try and take it back, but Zagreus just continues smiling. Not a single ounce of judgement. 

“You’re the one who makes all of it? Everyone loves it back at home, I-” then Zagreus stops, and not just because of another shiver of pain coursing through him. His face falls, and he turns away. “Sorry. Nevermind that.”

Hebe pushes herself to her feet, stopping in front of Zagreus and extending her hand to him. “Come on. It’ll be okay.”

Hope returns to his expression, the dourness leaving as he accepts her help. They’re both unsteady on their feet, but at least together they can walk easily enough with the other’s help. Ganymede takes off into the air, and Hebe trusts him to come back when she needs him again. Zagreus’ cloak billows behind him as they walk, and it’s likely much colder here than the Underworld, so Hebe cannot fault him for seeking its warmth. Not when he spent however long chained up in a rendition of the frozen surface, too. Hebe guides him through Olympus, feeling the strength of her home city begin to radiate through her bones. Even Zagreus is looking a little better, though not by much, and Hebe just hopes it will last. The main temple building soon appears, the one where Hebe knows her father Zeus will be at. Remarkably, though, Hebe comes across none of her siblings in the short walk. Hebe thanks the stars for the luck, at least for now. Even though it all feels as though she’s using borrowed time indeed. 

“You all live here?” Zagreus asks as they walk the stairs to meet father Zeus.

“We have a lot of family members,” Hebe shrugs. “Though I miss the peacocks when mother is not around.”

The sprawling expanse of the atrium opens up now in great archways and columns. The light of the further rising dawn seems intent on drenching every inch of the marble with gold, not to mention the parts of it that already _are_ gold. There is some relief to be found in the shade, and Hebe at least feels somewhat better as they both step inside. Statues of all her family members greet her in equal measure, with Hebe’s very own at the end, opposite that of Kore. The Fates must have found it funny indeed. Soon, the familiar yet brief walk ends as it always does, opening up into a large inner chamber, the light of the gardens flooding in and shining down on the throne of Zeus, presently occupied. The one beside it is not. Hebe yet feels very small in the shadow of the throne, and as she quietly enters with Zagreus, she feels her father startle. Once he realizes who it is, he immediately jumps from the throne. 

“My darling Hebe!” Zeus greets, stepping over to her and crouching down to be at least partially at eye level. He sweeps her into a hug in the next moment, and for a second, Hebe feels like a child again, like her father would fix everything wrong and tell her it would be alright. She clings to the feeling as long as she can. It doesn’t last. “You’ve changed your hair and clothes! Much more like your brother Ares, don’t you think?” Zeus chuckles, before glancing over. “And who is this under the cloak?”

Hebe stiffens. She slides from her father’s grip, landing back down beside Zagreus. She gathers up all the lessons her mother taught her about appearing regal and confident, and immediately forgets all of them just as quickly, as she reaches out and grabs Zagreus’ hand and the once careful explanation becomes more of a flood of frantic words.

“I rescued Zagreus from Hades,” Hebe confesses, gripping his hand harder as Zagreus pulls his hood down. “Because he- Lord Uncle Hades was _hurting_ him, father, and I couldn’t take it anymore so I went down there with Eurus and-”

Zeus stops her. “You left?” His voice sounds remarkably serious and stern. Hebe shuffles closer to Zagreus.

“I- I couldn’t just leave him! And I went with Eurus, father, but Eurus got hurt-” Hebe feels as though she could hyperventilate, despite not needing to truly breathe, as all her fears and terrors come rushing up again, finally. “Hades tore off his wing, father,” Hebe’s voice croaks, cracking at the seams. “He- he can’t _fly_ anymore, and Aeolus told me never to return, and I don’t know where else to go so I came home and I’m- I-”

Father Zeus lifts a finger and places it in front of Hebe. He stands up now, looking down at the two of them, and his expression is one of fierce disappointment. Hebe can scarcely remember the last time he’d ever worn it, at least to her. “You. Left.” He repeats. Hebe nods. Zeus crosses his arms and frowns even more. “Hebe! For the last time, you know that your mother and I told you that you cannot leave Olympus! What if a- a _mortal_ had found you?” Zeus says the word with disgust. “You could have been hurt! Killed!”

“But I wasn’t!” Hebe frantically shoots back, “They didn’t see me, father, I promise, I just went down to Hades, that’s it-”

“And you went down to Hades!” Zeus raises his voice. “You broke into your Uncle’s realm without permission! Not only that, but you kidnapped his only child!”

“I didn’t kidnap him,” Hebe squeaks. Zeus doesn’t seem to listen, or perhaps he doesn’t care. His voice becomes thunderous, his hair and beard growing grey like storm clouds.

“Hebe, I know that you are fond of your cousin, but what you did is not only very disrespectful, it is extremely dangerous. If your Uncle Hades finds out what you did, he could very well threaten war with Olympus!”

Hebe inhales shudderingly. “He- he already knows.”

“He **knows**?”

“He hurt Eurus!” Hebe shouts, and regrets it, covering her mouth with her free hand. Zeus shakes his head sharply, and the clouds around Olympus have grown much darker indeed. 

“Your little cousin is lucky he only lost a wing! Hades would have been well within his rights to hurt him even worse; and you! He could have easily hurt you the same, Hebe! He still can!” Zeus is looming over them both, and Zagreus is so tense beside Hebe he might as well be a statue. “This is why we told you not to leave Olympus! Do you see what you’ve done?! There could very well be a war if we do not return Zagreus to his father!”

“R-return?” Hebe stutters. Her eyes are wide. “You mean to return him?”

“Immediately. If we are quick, you will be able to _apologize_ to your Uncle Hades, and we can try to forget your little accident here ever happened.”

“Return! You- father, you can’t!” Hebe snaps. This time, she does not cringe away from that fact. “Hades was _hurting_ him! Torturing him! For no reason at all- his own son! With, with chains and the cold, and-” Hebe takes a step in front of Zagreus. Inhales sharply, and just lets the words settle. 

“It is not our business how Hades sees fit to discipline his child!” Zeus snaps back. 

“Would you do the same to me?!” Hebe demands. “If I disobeyed- would you lock me up beside the Titans?!”

Zeus reels back. There is a flash of lightning throughout the chamber. “Do not argue with me, child! We are returning Zagreus to his father, and that is **final!** ”

“I won’t!” Hebe shouts. “I-” She suddenly stops, then coughs. Once, then thrice, fiercely, the feeling of sickness washing over her once more. This time, she swears she almost coughs up blood, and she hides it with her hand with something like horror. Zeus freezes too. 

“Hebe…” He begins slowly, his bright eyes alight with something like shock and anger. “ _What else did you do?_ ”

“I saved Zagreus’ life!” Hebe replies stubbornly, despite the pain still shooting through her. “It’s only a few strands of lifeforce, father; I’m fine!”

“A few _strands_!? Hebe, **what have you done?!** ”

“It’s my choice!” Hebe yells, stepping back again. “You all left him to die, but I- I won’t let him!”

“ **YOU COULD DIE!** ” Zeus roars. “ **IN MY FATHER’S NAME, HEBE, YOU WILL STOP THIS AT ONCE!** ” 

“ **No!** ” Hebe hollers back. “I won’t let you send him back to be forgotten! To- to be hurt for no reason! I won’t let you! S-stay **away**!”

Hebe dodges out of the way of his extended hand, grabbing Zagreus and dragging him backwards. He looks shocked. There’s no time for that. Instead, Hebe turns and picks out a random exit, running towards it- as much as she can run, at least. Behind them, Hebe hears her father shouting, lighting and thunder flashing and roiling around the chamber.

“ **ARES! STOP YOUR SISTER!** ”

Oh, no.

Hebe runs out of the atrium. Zagreus is keeping pace beside her, but only barely, and he is looking to her with confusion. 

“What does that mean?” Zagreus gets out between gasping breaths. Hebe tugs his hand along harder, not even daring to look to him as she responds.

“Ares is coming to find us. We have to-” Hide, run, outpace him, outsmart him, “to- just, follow my lead, cousin. And- and be quiet, okay? Okay.” Hebe closes her mouth immediately after that, knowing that in reality, the odds of them beating her brother were slim to none. He was no Hermes, nor was he Artemis, but Ares was the God of War, and he lived for the hunt. Hunting down his little sister would be easy game indeed. 

And true to her word, only a few moments later does Hebe hear the familiar footfalls of her brother Ares landing from his chariot, likely having flown in from some other part of the mountain to chase after them. And to give them a sporting chance, of course he would do it on foot. Hebe feels her breathing become short and terrified, although illusionary it was. She yanks Zagreus to the left, down some small alley that she doesn’t remember the purpose for. Ares is doubtlessly behind them, but Hebe doesn’t dare throw down anything as an obstacle, not when it would only assuredly tell him where she was. Instead, she pulls Zagreus into a small house, or storage room, whatever it is, and slams the door shut. 

‘The back,’ she mouths to Zagreus, moving on light feet now. He nods. 

“Hebe,” Ares calls from some distance, his voice a familiar cadence of playfulness that would often mark a game. Now, it only chills Hebe. “Now, I hear you’ve made Lord Father Zeus quite cross. I would love to hear exactly why after I catch you.”

Hebe quietly pulls the door open, closing it behind them. Then, Hebe pulls Zagreus down by the cloak as they dart over to the cover of another building, as quiet as Artemis when she hunts. There is a small park ahead, and Hebe points to it. Zagreus nods. 

“Come now, dearest sister, surely you do not think you can outwit me in this game?” Ares sounds infinitely amused. “You have not won a single game between us since you first learned your aspect.”

The park is sprawling, and Hebe notes the parts of it that are a garden as well, though no longer tended to as ardently as before, perhaps. Persephone had always been the best at it. A few of her pomegranate trees still remain as healthy as ever, though, and Hebe is careful not to step on any of the fallen fruits, least it lead her brother to them with blood-like footprints. Zagreus and Hebe move quietly through a section of underbrush, abruptly turning left at one point, then right at another, exiting near an open section of road. Hebe gestures towards some place off in the distance, and hopes she conveys her intent to get to the edge of Olympus. But either way, Zagreus gives her an easy smile. It is reassuring. 

What isn’t reassuring are the next words her brother gives her. “Wherever could she have gone? Well, perhaps these burnt footprints in the grass will lead me to her.” Ares sounds like he’s holding back a laugh. Hebe immediately looks down at Zagreus, and notes with horror that, indeed, his burning feet have been leading a trail right to them. Zagreus looks equally shocked. Frantically, Hebe scoops Zagreus up, wheezing at his weight with her own weak strength, but seeing little other option. No winds to fly up and out from, and so the only way out is down. And little point in hiding now too, not when Ares is undoubtedly right behind them. Perhaps had been this entire time. He always enjoyed playing games such as these. 

So Hebe runs. She can hear Ares behind her, a god at the height of his power, versus her, reduced and barely hanging on. Zagreus watches over her shoulder, and as she runs, he reaches down and grabs harshly at her arm.

“Hebe, he’s-”

“I know!” Hebe chokes through the terror. She urges her legs to run faster, but in a straight sprint, it is no question of who will win. 

“You’ll have to be faster than that to outrun me, little sister.” Ares doesn’t even sound tired. But then, of course, why would he be? The edge of the mountain top is getting closer now, and Hebe can see the roiling clouds around it, black and angry. “And you seem to have reached the end of the game too, my dearest Hebe. You’ve made a noble effort, but I’m afraid you’ll have to admit defeat.”  
No, Hebe muses. I don’t think I will. Into the air she whistles sharply, though it’s more of a call than a whistle. It is a familiar one, indeed. She finds some last burst of strength within herself as the edge is only three leaps away. Ares is closer behind her still. But even he would not think her so foolish as to leap from the edge of Olympus without any means of flight.

It is his mistake.

Hebe jumps. She takes it as a hurdle, kicking her legs from the ground and through the air. Just enough, she knows, to clear Ares’ reaching hands. She twists her head enough to see his shock as she falls from the height of her jump. 

“Hebe!”

And down she goes. 

Through the dark, roiling clouds, then farther still, dropping through the air. Lightning slashes the air around her, rain erupting in the moment of storm, but the thunder is not loud enough to obscure the familiar responding call of Ganymede as he dives down beside her. Just in time to rest upon her back and spread their shared wings, the sudden force of it sending them topping over and over through the air, Hebe frantically struggling to stabilize herself. Zagreus might be screaming, or maybe it’s Hebe. She’s never done this before, never forced herself to right her own flight as she tumbles through the sky like Icarus. The storm buffets them and Hebe can see land coming up, far too fast, and she shoots out her wings in one last ditch effort to catch the wind that will not come. 

All but a weak, warm, summer wind. One that rests under her wings for just long enough that she stabilizes, levels out in a glide. It’s gone just as quickly, but it was undeniably there. 

But now Hebe is gliding through the storm, the sky as dark as pitch around her and louder than any volcanic eruption. Nowhere to turn to. Aeolia, forever gone. Olympus- if she returns, it will be her tomb. She has nothing and no one, drifting through a storm with Zagreus in her arms. 

And to the Earth below, they both fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All hope seems lost for our little adventurers. Or is it?


	15. Lament, Ignoble Icarus

The descent is marked by the air. It sounds like howling, and perhaps it is her father’s rage; perhaps it is the sounds screaming in her ears as she falls, faster and faster, the weak wind of Notus not strong enough to fight against a storm of Zeus and Demeter. Or, perhaps it is mourning, too, Aeolia still so far away yet carrying their cries of sorrow. A sadness for which Hebe is solely responsible.

Maybe this is penance, then. To tumble through the air, her wings straining with all their might to hold her and Zagreus aloft. Rain and lightning turn to frost, sharp shards of ice and snow that pierce the air, layering across her skin as she descends. From the clouds above, she knows that Ares must be out searching for her, especially after she so desperately threw herself from the edge of Olympus. And Ares will be joined by Apollo, by Artemis, any of their family that can muster a chariot to fetch a young, foolish goddess, one whose actions might well cause a war. 

Tears freeze with the snow on her face. She can see trees now, far below but rising quickly. She tucks her wings around Zagreus and ignores his protests, tilts her body like all the training her brother could give, turning her gaze to the sky so she, perhaps, doesn’t have to see her fate approaching below.

The landing is heavy. The **thud** echoes through the trees, though it is muffled by the snow, eaten up by bark and stone. The shock of it spreads through her system, not so much pain as it is muted, shouldered by Ganymede; and oh Ganymede, Hebe wants to cry. As their shared wings disappear, as he retreats into Hebe’s soul, the fall absorbed by him, and him alone, as though he should be the one protecting Hebe. With him too leaves his selflessly given strength, and Hebe and watches the air she exhales curl upwards like smoke signals and other dying things.

They both lay in the snow for a moment. Maybe it is not a moment, maybe it is longer, or shorter. Zagreus speaks first, as he sits up, leaning over Hebe, his cloak draping her. The few begrudging inches of sunlight that escape the clouds above dapple his skin, and Hebe can see the frost that clings to his eyelashes, the red of his nose, all that speak of the toll this bitter cold has on him. Yet another thing Hebe is responsible for.

“Hebe,” Zagreus whispers. Is it a whisper? Hebe can’t tell. Everything seems so far away. “Hebe, are you alright?”

She wants to cry again. Of course he asks about her first. It bubbles from her lips as a laugh, but then morphs into something like a sob, and she sharply turns her head to try and hide the expression from him. “Zagreus- we can’t stay here. Come on, we…” She stops. Where will they go? There is nowhere to turn. None that Hebe can find refuge with. She stands and yet, struggles to hold herself up as she looks around, realizing for the first time that she has nothing. No plan, no last resort, no allies. There is nothing. But- but Zagreus is still counting on her. So Hebe inhales a breath that isn’t needed and continues, “We need to find shelter.”

Shelter. That is something Hebe can do. Shelter, then… then Hebe will come up with something. Shelter first. Hebe isn’t like Athena, nor is she truly as wise as her mother Hera, but this is something even a mortal can do. It will be fine. One foot in front of the other, Hebe shoulders the weight of weak Zagreus, and they walk. His feet leave melted snow where they walk, but the blizzard picks up in intensity, and it isn’t long before it falls upon them too, and the world even one step behind them disappears into a realm of ice and cold. So frozen is the realm here that Hebe, despite herself, feels it seep into her bones. She shivers with each breath forward they manage. 

“Here.” The sound of movement, and Hebe turns her head to look to Zagreus, sees him unwrap half of the cloak to beckon her under. The refusal begins in her throat, ready on her tongue, but he has steel in his eyes. “I won’t take no for an answer. At least share it with me, mate.”

What can she do but accept? The gratitude is murmured between her lips, but she feels a burning guilt as well, pooled low in her chest as she hunches over. She can feel herself leeching the heat from Zagreus, her shivering abating slightly, transferring to him as a consequence. But he simply soldiers on.

He is strong. He has battled the Hydra, has clawed his way out of Hades countless times. Hebe has to remember that. But when she looks at Zagreus, she can only see the image of him in chains, dying in frozen Tartarus. 

The blizzard worsens. Father Zeus must be raging above, for the grows even so far below are thick and grey, and Lady Demeter is all too happy to turn the rain to ice and hail, to turn it against the mortals below. 

For Persephone.

Hebe’s sob is raspy and half hearted. She stumbles in the snow, her strength ebbing; whatever she leached from Olympus is gone now, and the storm only makes it so much worse. Her thoughts turn around in circles and she cannot control them, not when she looks up and only sees white- how can she find shelter now? How can she save them both if she cannot even do such a simple task? If she can barely even walk? Hebe trips again, and she leans heavy on Zagreus now, so, so selfish. Stealing his warmth, his strength. Just as she stole away his mother. Oh- oh she didn’t mean to. He has to know that- doesn’t he? She didn’t mean to. She didn’t know. Persephone- Persephone. 

“She wanted out,” Hebe croaks, eyes stinging as the cold burns the unshed tears, freezing them to her eyes, caking them shut with ice that she struggles to even fight against. “She didn’t know that you… oh, but I should have known. I…”

“Come on,” Zagreus grunts, “It’s- it’s going to be alright. Just keeps walking. We can find some shelter, or… a mortal that can help us. Just hold on.”

“No,” Hebe gasps out the sob. “No- oh, Zagreus, I’m sorry; I’m so sorry.” 

She can walk no more. The next step she takes falters, and she collapses forward, only held up by Zagreus. Selfish. She can’t even stand anymore. There is a shady tree nearby, leaves still on it despite the winter, and Zagreus manages to drag them both to it, sitting under its limbs. The worst of the snow is, at least partially, blocked. But it is still a death; now, only a slow one. Hebe looks to Zagreus, opening her mouth to say something, anything. Nothing comes. Instead, she frowns, clutches her chiton close and bumps her hand against something plush and small. Oh.

“The mouse…” Hebe whispers. Hebe pulls it out, the tiny stuffed animal resting in her palm. Still there. After all this time, she still had it. She holds out her hands, and Zagreus looks at it for a moment, shocked, before reaching out and grabbing it quickly.

“Mort,” Zagreus says, eyes wide. “He… oh, Than.”

“I’m sorry,” Hebe manages. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault Zagreus, I- I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I’m…”

But Zagreus isn’t listening. He is holding the plush mouse close, hugging it to his chest, and- and are those tears in his eyes now? Freezing to his cheeks before they can even fall, and Hebe laughs in pain, lets the sound rattle her chest and burn her, turning to sobs again and again as she feels herself fall to pieces. How had she failed so completely? So completely and so utterly, to lay in a blizzard, banished from home, from her friends, on the cusp of war- all for her own foolishness. 

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, “I’m sorry…”

She holds her fists to her eyes now. There is no sunlight under her skin, only burnt frost and grime, shame and echoing dust. But her eyes are still wide open, staring into the black of her palms, seeing images of the past that repeat and repeat and _repeat_. The last words of Achilles. The words of a dead man walking. 

“He said,” Hebe begins, stops, “Achilles said to tell you that he loved you, Zagreus. Before- before he-”

Zagreus looks up. It is a sharp movement and Hebe lowers her fists enough to see the way his eyes are wide with shock and horror. Hebe covers her mouth. 

“No- no, wait, Hebe- Hebe, why did he say that? Hebe- Hebe what happened? Please, what happened?”

How desperate. His voice is scrambling against itself, already knowing the answer, unwilling to accept it, and Hebe shakes her head and covers her mouth but she knows she will speak regardless, knows that she cannot lie to him, would never lie to him, and yet she is going to shoot the cocked arrow into his heart and kill him all the same. Oh, for love.

“He left to go buy us time, to rescue you,” Hebe says, voice stifled by her grasping hands. Not enough. “He… he left to face Hades.”

He left, she says, to die.

Zagreus croaks a sound of anguish, a small one at first, and then larger, hoarse. He clutches Mort close and- and Hebe, selfishly, closes her eyes so as not to see him cry. But she does not need to see to hear the sound, to hear how he tries to hold it in, tries to smother it behind Thanatos’ gift. But there is no wind to carry the sound away, and so it lingers, echoing through the trees, landing and burying itself into Hebe’s heart like poison. 

Tears fall from her eyes. Hebe thinks of Eurus, crippled forever, unable to ever fly again. Unable to even perform his own duties as a god; how could she do this? How could she do this to him? To her dearest friend? To one like a brother? Oh, cruelty! And banished from Aeolia, banished from home, unable to return unless she is to be locked up for her foolishness. Unless she wishes to return Zagreus to the same place she stole him from, the pain he suffered only to be doubled. Of his mentor Achilles, suffering the sleep of the forever dead, not even the privilege of a shade any longer. Of Thanatos and Megara, punished for failing to stop Hebe and Eurus, no matter if they had wanted to at all. And of the countless mortals that suffer for Hebe’s own foolish mistakes, as they die in droves, suffocated by frost. Oh, Eurus; oh, Eurus!

And so, Hebe too cries. She sobs, louder than Zagreus, worse than the hurt she can bear to show. She sobs for what she has lost, and for those she could not save. She shrieks and wails and imagines Eurus, and she wishes, oh she wishes, that she could only fix all that she had wrought. Oh, poor, selfish goddess. 

The sound is loud enough that Hebe cannot hear the approach of footsteps at first, but there is a presence nearby that is as familiar as her own hands. One that radiates comfort, and home. Hebe opens her eyes, shards of ice snapping at the movement, and looks out into the blizzard with something like fearful hope. No, no- not… no, it cannot be. Zagreus too looks up, and his face is the opposite of Hebe’s, hope sprawling wide across his features, the way he puts his whole body into it. Almost managing to stand, too, to the figure that appears through the curtain of snow. Blonde hair like barley, skin like the shores of the Aegean sea. Her smile is gone, replaced by worry, and yet she is still exactly as Hebe remembered her last, when she left her those years and years ago.

“Mother,” Zagreus says.

“Persephone,” says Hebe.

Persephone approaches them. Hebe wants to shrink away, to push her back, to tell her to run. That even being by them is danger- that they could draw the eyes of the gods, that everything she’s done would be for naught. But Hebe- Hebe cannot. She cannot tear her eyes away from her friend, from Persephone, from the one that was her best and only friend for the centuries in which they grew up. Persephone, stolen away by Zeus, to Hades. Persephone, who Hebe took from the Underworld at her own request. Persephone, Persephone, Persephone. 

Hebe manages a selfish smile of pure, utter joy and relief and sorrow, before the weight of her own exhaustion finally seizes her, and the world tips over into black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I’m not dead I just cannot write when other people are near and guess what is near. Other people
> 
> Hades goty in my heart
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely comments, they feed me and inspire me to write more. Mmmm . Also would anyone be interested in small drabbles in the same universe or even in AU with these characters? Because I have been piling those up like a shameful little pill bug 
> 
> Next chapter look forward to Persephone getting some Agency because I want her to have some, and she’s a goddess for fucks sake so I think it’s time she reminds everyone of that
> 
> Now with fanart! From my dearest love Cain. Featuring Eurus and Hebe 


	16. Dawn’s Rose-Red Fingers

There is something soft under Hebe’s nose. Something in the air, a scent of lavender, earthy and muffled, lacking the malice of smothering but beckoning towards slumber none the less. Hebe’s hands ball up, grabbing weak handfuls of- fabric, a blanket, that is what covers her. Something about it feels so familiar. She can’t place it, nor can she name why she feels a growing sense of alarm that mixes with the nostalgic peace. Why her heart begins to beat faster like a war drum. It nudges at the back of her mind, until all at once, the scent, the sounds, the wool blanket draped over her- the name coats her throat, choking with panic. 

“Persephone.” Hebe’s eyes fly open now. The memories come back too. The storm, and Zagreus, and falling, down, down, down. Hebe’s fear is sharp, and it cuts through the layer of security she felt only moments ago, as she struggles to throw the blanket off of herself, to find Zagreus, to- 

A gasp. “Hebe.” And Hebe knows that voice, knows Persephone’s voice from their childhood spent in meadows and forests and gardens. Could have picked it out of a crowded room alone, once. Persephone rushes over, carrying a vessel of water in her hands, and Hebe stops struggling in the bed to stare at her with wide eyes. How long has it been? Almost unexpectedly, it makes Hebe want to cry. As though they are children once more and big sister Kore will shush it away.

“Hebe.” Persephone sets down the water, reaching out to grab her hands. “You’re awake.” The words are said with a smile, gentle and wide, and Hebe can’t help but mirror it. 

“I- I am. And you-” Hebe looks around now, finally looking around the room she is in. High ceilings with wooden beams, drying flowers hanging from the rafters, a bundle of lavender resting on the open window beside her. There is another bed in the corner, smaller, still bearing the signs of cobwebs from unuse, and resting under the covers Hebe can see Zagreus. Her hammering heart calms; Hebe turns back to Persephone. “How… how did you find us? Where are we?”

Persephone releases Hebe’s hands, drawing up a small amount of water. “Here, can you sit up on your own? Drink this.” Hebe obliges, propping herself up and accepting the water, still cool from where it was drawn from. “And, well… you are at my home. I should be asking you how you found me, I suppose. It was only luck, really, that I heard you in the storm.” Persephone is watching Hebe with a worried expression, her eyes bearing the weight of ages that Hebe can only wonder at. “What were you doing out there? And with Zagreus, nonetheless?”

At the mention of his name, Zagreus stirs somewhat, but remains sleeping. Hebe watches him, her own eyes a reflection of Persephone’s own, and then she sits up completely in the bed, testing her weight on the floor. Avoiding the question with her gaze. 

“They don’t know,” Hebe whispers. “The Olympians. They don’t know you’re here. I shoul- I didn’t mean to come.” Lifts her gaze to Persephone, then moves it away quickly, eyeing the cracks in the floor, the strands of rugs that splay out. “It was a mistake. I…” 

Persephone reaches out. Her hand grabs Hebe’s cheek, tenderly, and she carefully tilts Hebe’s face towards her own. “Hebe. It’s alright.” She furrows her brow, as though she is searching. “You can tell me what happened.”

Hebe reaches her own hand up, resting it on Persephone’s, staring at her confident and caring eyes. That must be where Zagreus gets it from, Hebe thinks. 

“Father Zeus…” Hebe begins. Stops. “I…” No. “It…” Silence. Looks to Zagreus again, and her face breaks apart like a marble statue, cracks appearing and spreading out. She thinks of Eurus, broken to pieces. Thinks of Achilles, reduced to dust. Her mouth is dry again, the water a distant echo now, and Hebe stands to her feet abruptly, just to put some distance between herself and Kore. Persephone. 

“I took Zagreus,” Hebe says. As though it was that simple to confess to her sins. “I took him. From Hades.”

The sounds in the room seem to stop. Hebe keeps looking to Zagreus, his eyes uncreased in his sleep. Imagines frost coating his eyelashes, or snow burning his lungs. “I didn’t have… there wasn’t a choice.”

“Hebe…” Persephone begins to sound reprimanding, just like Zeus, like Aeolus, and Hebe can’t take it. The mask shatters. Marble becomes clay, and Hebe turns to Persephone, her face grief and agony and _anger_.

“Hades was hurting him.” There has to be a stronger word than hurting. Tormenting. Torturing. What is the word for one someone you love hurts you the most? Perhaps it hasn’t been invented yet. Hebe throws her hands out, and she tries to smother her voice, but the volume rises unimpeded. “He was in _chains_ , in Tartarus, like- like a _Titan_. Your son!” Hebe brings her arms up to her chest. “Do you even know what he has gone through? Hades kills him- every time he has come to visit you, his own father tries to drive a spear through his chest! And yet-” Hebe takes a step to one side, then to the other, like a caged animal. “He still comes to you! Kore- please, don’t you _dare_ \- don’t you dare send him back. Not when even Olympus has forsaken him too.” Hebe lets the angry tears fall as they may, uncaring, just staring at Persephone now, spent. “Please… not you too. Not you too.”

Persephone takes a step back. Then, another. Her eyes are wide and Hebe wonders if it is fear, but no, it isn’t. Not when Persephone stares at Zagreus in horror, her hands raised halfway into the air like they too have frozen. 

“He-” Persephone’s voice cuts off. “My son- he-” Then, she takes a tentative step forward. “He was chained in Tartarus?” Another step, her voice gaining some quality Hebe cannot place. “Hades’ was hurting him?” She stops in front of Zagreus’ bed. “Killing him?”

Hebe opens her mouth. Closes it. Uncertain. Turns her gaze to Zagreus too, and just as suddenly, feels drained. Exhausted. Tired of running, or fighting, of waiting for the other shoe to drop. What is she to say to Persephone? The woman that was once her friend? “Yes,” Hebe murmurs. It is taken by the breeze. But the ghost of it lingers in the silence. 

Something snaps. Hebe looks over, and Persephone is staring at some point in space, something beyond the walls, maybe. Her hands are balled into fists. And her face- her face is twisted into a horrified snarl, muddled with sorrow and pain and regret, the edges of it burning with rage. Plants outside the window begin to writhe. The bark of the tree snaps again, like bone, and the mandrake root screams. Angry tears roll down Persephone’s cheeks, and the creeping ivy cinches tight to the walls, and Hebe can only stare. Stare at the rage of a goddess, and in that moment, Persephone looks like her mother Demeter did all those years ago- Demeter, finding her daughter had been stolen away.

“I told him-” Persephone whispers, voice broken, “I told him never to come back. That’s what I told Zagreus when I last saw him.” Persephone turns to Hebe, and all Hebe can see is a lost girl, so much like when they were younger again. The anger is a hollow shell. “I- I sent him back to that. I never… I never even asked, I never knew, I just… I…” 

Hebe reaches out. Her arms wrap around Persephone, and she quietly lets Persephone shake in her arms. To bleed off the rage, the grief. The vegetation calms, the tree rests, and Hebe sees Zagreus begin to awaken and feels her strength drain as it joins his. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Hebe assures, voice soft. What else can she say? Condemn Persephone for an act that she had no knowledge of? Blame her for Zagreus’ suffering? No, no. She can’t. Hebe simply holds Persephone in the moment, as if that could soothe it away, make the hurt into a balm for her rage. Anything, and yet, not enough. Not as Hebe feels her chest begin to sink and her limbs weaken, and she squeezes her eyes shut tightly, as if she can beg for more time, knowing she cannot. “I… I must sit down now. Forgive me, I…” Hebe pulls away. Persephone looks confused for a moment, watching Hebe’s strength seem to fade. “I- I made a contract with Eris. To save Zagreus. I just need a moment to rest, is all. Just a moment to rest.” 

Eris’ words still bounce in Hebe’s head. _Reveal the secret of Persephone to those you care most for_. Hebe knows she will grow weaker still, with every moment she does not, but how is she to go to Olympus and spread this chaos? How is she to go to her family and reveal the truth? How is she to…

To…

Hebe pauses. Watches Zagreus rise like dawn, with her rose-red fingers, and a thought slips through. The overwhelming wealth of love she feels for him. Those she cares most for. Does she truly care for Demeter as she cares for Zagreus? Hestia? No, no. Nothing can compare. And a smile, though weak, begins to creep onto Hebe’s face, almost surprised. Those she cares most for. Zagreus, yes. Zagreus, and-

And Eurus. 

The smile drops. Those she cares most for. Eurus and Zagreus. Eurus, who never wished to see her again. Eurus, who’s injury is her own fault. Eurus, her dearest friend, the one to whom she holds as a brother. Eurus, who hates her. 

In her mind, Hebe can almost imagine Eris’ laughter, as her strength ebbs like the tides. The ones she cares most for, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I said this was a fixit I meant it. And I’m gonna fix the fact that hey uhh Persephone how come u don’t seem to care that your husband(?) was abusing your son for years mentally and also now physically 
> 
> Also I think that the goddesses should have more agency it’s very fun. Persephone gets to be a little mad. As a treat
> 
> Sorry for any uhh slow updates I’m having surgery so I’m gonna be slower. Or possibly faster. I don’t know. Anyway, stan Hebe


	17. The Love of a Family

It is Zagreus that Hebe watches now. As his eyes blink open, seeing the first light of dawn. The way his hands curl against blankets and, blearily, he looks around; his mind is still heavy with sleep, and unlike Hebe, he does not awaken with any fear in his heart, nor terror in his veins. Hebe counts his inhales, feelings them mirror her own waning strength, but it is fine. A burden she can bear, if it is for him. Especially as she watches his eyes spark with recognition now, his gaze lending on his mother, Persephone. His smile blooming like the domain he lays half a claim to. 

“Mother,” Zagreus beams. He moves to stand, wincing at the pain that spreads through his limbs, and Persephone is next to him in but a breath, helping him, speaking to him in a low voice. A voice that, Hebe notes, shakes around the edges.

“My son,” Persephone breathes. “Zagreus. Please, move slowly. You’ve had quite the journey here.” 

“You could say that,” Zagreus groans as he rubs his side, before his eyes suddenly dart around the room. “Wait, where is- Hebe! You’re alright!” 

Hebe blinks. Feels as though she is intruding into a scene not meant for her, but manages to smile nonetheless. “I am. ...Mostly.”

Zagreus stands with his mother’s aid, wobbling over to Hebe’s bedside where she sits. Then, with a grunt, he falls back down, this time beside her. The hug is- surprising. But it breaks down whatever barrier Hebe had made, and she hugs right back, squeezing Zagreus for as much as her strength allows and tilting him side to side with each breath. He’s alive. He’s safe. She- she did it. 

“You’re safe,” Hebe murmurs into his hair, “You’re okay now. It’s going to be okay, little light. It’s going to be okay now.”

Nevermind that Eurus is maimed. That Achilles is gone, likely forever. The unnameable punishments that Thanatos and Megara must be going through. There is mercy in forgiveness, and Hebe forgives herself, at least for now, for that which she couldn’t change. For saving Zagreus. And the hug is just as much for him as it is for her. 

Still, Hebe looks up. Persephone is watching the hug with tortured eyes, and a guilty, bleeding edge of anger in her chest. This too Hebe understands. For the bruises on Zagreus have yet to fully heal, and they are shaped like chains of iron. The Chains of Death, with which he was bound. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Hebe speaks again. Forgiveness for a sin Persephone could not have intended. “You only wanted to keep him safe. You- you didn’t know.”

Zagreus looks up, confused, before seeing his mother with tears in her eyes. Zagreus is on his feet again, going to her. “Mother? Why are you crying? This wasn’t your fault-“

“Oh, Zagreus,” Persephone shakes her head, the smile of reassurance dying before it can be born. “Hebe is right. I- I didn’t know. But I should’ve. Oh gods, how could I have been so blind? To my own son?” Persephone reaches out and cups Zagreus’ cheek with a tender hand, and he leans into the comfort, perhaps without meaning to. “I thought I was keeping you safe. I thought that you wouldn’t have to come to the surface, to be doomed to die. But- oh, how selfish of me, my son. That I was sending you back down to be hurt even worse…”

He winces. “It… it wasn’t that bad, mother. I’m used to it by now. He… father would have let me go eventually, if- if Hebe hadn’t found me. He was only doing it to protect you.”

Persephone’s eyes burn with tears at that statement. “To protect me- oh, oh no… Zagreus, you… you told him of what we spoke of then? And he used it against you? He locked you up because of my words?”

Zagreus doesn’t need to answer. His guilty gaze says enough. And it is unneeded guilt, misplaced; it wasn’t his fault for how he was treated. Yet, the guilty remains, and it makes Persephone bring Zagreus in to a hug, to clutch him tightly and with shaking hands, rocking him back and forth. Whispering apologies and regret to her son. 

“Will you not die still, up here on the surface, my son?” Persephone whispers. “Have I doomed you again to return to Tartarus?”

“No,” Hebe speaks, her voice firm. Stands to her feet with strength she does not have. “He will not. I- I made sure of that.”

Persephone turns her gaze to Hebe. “Yes, you… you mentioned a contract with Eris, didn’t you?... oh, little Hebe, what have we done to you?”

“It was the only way,” Hebe implores. Prays that Persephone will understand. “I… I made a contract with Eris, that Zagreus and I will share our strength. That I will have to reveal to the two I love most what happened to you. What I _did_ to you.”

Zagreus is watching with confused curiosity, as Hebe faces him. Persephone, too, though her face dawns with understanding, then something like regret. 

“You did nothing to me, darling Hebe,” Persephone whispers.

“But I did. And so he must know.”

“Know what?” Zagreus asks. “Did you do something to mother? I, I don’t think I understand.”

Hebe looks away now. The words that sounded so easy in her head are agony to speak. The guilt and blame of years, coming to the surface. Every life lost. Every mortal gone. 

“I was there the day father Zeus took Persephone away.” Were that the least of her sins. “He made me swear never to tell anyone, and so, I… I didn’t.”

Hebe had been but a child then. Younger even than now. Playing in the garden with Persephone and the nymphs, only for big sister Kore to be snatched away. The horror bubbles back up, a blanket of darkness across Hebe’s eyes, and the ghost of fear seeks to strangle her. She resists.

“I knew what happened to her. If I had only told Demeter, then, perhaps this eternal winter would not have happened.” Hebe looks up. She forced herself to meet Zagreus’ gaze. “But that isn’t the sin I have to confess to. Zagreus, I… when you were… stillborn, your mother left Hades. And she… she asked me to hide her away.”

Hebe hadn’t known. Neither did Persephone. That the stillborn child was not so stillborn at all. That he yet lived, alone in Hades. 

“Charon’s boat brought her along the river, and I showed her a spot she could call home. And I… I promised to never see her again.”

Persephone and Hebe lock gazes now. That final meeting- the agony of it. Words unsaid, ages that had passed, the longing to be together again but knowing they never could be. That big sister Kore and little Hebe, they were but ghosts to the past. And yet, somehow, here they are now. 

“You- this entire time, you knew where my mother was?” Zagreus asks. Hebe can’t bear to meet his eyes. “And you never told me?”

“Zagreus,” Persephone reaches out and grabs his cheek again, gently turning him to her. “Do not blame her. Please, if anything, you must blame me. I made her swear never to see me again. She had no choice, my son.”

“But I…” Zagreus turns to Hebe. And this time, she meets his gaze, wills herself to accept the judgement there. And yet… and yet, after a moment, she finds none. There is only acceptance. “I… understand.” Zagreus reaches out, grabbing Hebe’s wrist and bringing her towards him and Kore. “But no more secrets, okay? Not anymore. We’re in this together now, aren’t we? No more secrets between family.”

“I-“ Hebe stops, and wipes the tears from her eyes before they can fall. “Of course, Zagreus. No more secrets.”

He smiles at her like dawn. Persephone, too, so gently. It makes Hebe feel… at peace, for once. But the feeling fades quickly, and she casts her gaze to the side.

“But… I still do not know how to fix this. We cannot hide you on the surface forever, and mother and father- if they find me, they'll…” Hebe shakes her head. “They’ll send you back to Hades. I…”

“No.” Persephone’s voice is firm. “No. They will not.” Hebe looks to her, and Persephone’s face is firm, cast from the strongest bronze, cold and harsh and determined, tempered with anger and pain. “You will let me handle Hades. I know what to do.” The harshness abates for a moment, replaced by care. “Let me handle it, Hebe. You need not worry; you aren’t alone anymore. Zagreus and you- you’ll both be safe.”

Were it anyone else, Hebe wouldn’t have believed them. But the strength of Persephone’s words, the set of her face. All of it, together. All of it, a promise that Persephone will keep. 

And so, Hebe allows herself to cry. Just for the once. Just as the weight of the world is lifted from her shoulders, if for but a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably just a few more chapters left I imagine. Also, thanks for all the well wishes for the surgery. Recovery is extremely painful but also boring, so, new chapter for you
> 
> Big sister (metaphorical) Kore to the rescue


End file.
